


The Ties That Bind

by stammi_vicinora



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ballet, Day 5: Domesticity, Kid Yurio, M/M, Single Dad AU, Slow Burn, Victuuri Week, Victuuri Week 2017, Viktor being extra, soloist Yuuri, yuuri prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-23 13:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9658439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stammi_vicinora/pseuds/stammi_vicinora
Summary: The first time Viktor saw Yuri Plisetsky was by pure chance at a private rink in Moscow, skating for his dedushka. He thought they would never meet again but it seemed he was lucky in life.“Papochka!” Yuri called out and Viktor swore his heart stopped beating.Yuri hadn’t addressed him as atsets, heck, he didn’t even call him papa! Yuri saidpapochka. Papochka! It was a more affectionate, almost cutesy way of calling your papa and it was quickly turning to be Viktor’s favourite word. Did Yuri know that Viktor was somehow his father?Then Yuri started dashing towards Viktor and all his earlier doubts regarding Yuri had been wiped clean from his mind. Viktor immediately darted off and all that was running through his mind at the time wasYuri, Yuri, my son, Yuri! Viktor had waited to hold this boy in his arms, wanting to tell him how proud he was and how much he had grown. Viktor decided he didn’t want to waste any more time being separated from his Yuri.His little boy, Yuri.Or the single dad feat. ballet AU I've always wanted to write that no one asked for.





	1. Father and Son

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my submission piece for #victuuriweek, I'm really happy to be able to participate in this and huge kudos to the event creators, you guys are the bomb! This idea has been sitting in my drafts for quite a while now and I was convinced that it would never be published. Life has been rough for me lately and I've been struggling emotionally and mentally for some time now. At one point I gave up in writing because I just saw myself as a failure in life and while writing had once brought me joy and a means of escape, it brought bitterness, anger and tears.
> 
> As I publish this, it is proof to me that I still can fight, that even when I am abandoned and broken, I'm not really dead yet. It might have felt that way but there is still a part of me that couldn't be destroyed completely. I had gathered all of that hurt and poured it across the page, gilded them into the words I have written and while it may not be good, I just wanted to put this out there as a testament to myself that I still have something in me, that I'm enough... I really didn't think I could do it, especially not in time for any of the prompts, but here it is and I proved my doubtful-self wrong.
> 
> So a very big thank you indeed to the event creators for giving me this platform and the push I needed. Also, thank you, dear readers, for choosing to read my fic and giving it a try. I think that's enough of me rambling so please enjoy!

* * *

There was soft humming that came from the studio. The sound bouncing off the mirrored walls was the piece that had been played on the piano found at one corner, accompanied by the steps and twirls of 15 dancers just half an hour prior. Absent were the sharp barks of correction, the gentle thuds of landing feet, nor thunderous claps of _1, 2, 3, 4_. Just a melodic tune that complimented the wintery Moscow scenery outside.

Brown eyes slid to the clock overhead that did not tick nor did it tock, following the needle that counted the seconds in silence. As it passed the 60-second mark, the minute hand moved to signal that it was now 3 pm and the humming abruptly stopped. Silence overtook the room before it was broken with an audible sigh. A flex of feet, a stretch of arms, another repetition just to be sure, after which the only occupant in the room braced a hand to the wall behind to aid him to his feet. Reaching for the bag not too far away, it was slung over one shoulder. Gentle creaks, distinguishably of leather against the floor, sounded as feet padded their way to the exit. The lights died with the flip of the switch and the door was swung shut, the room now empty till the next session.

Audible chatter could be heard from outside – the high-pitched voices of adolescents. There was laughter and light conversation, there were whispers where they sat on the floor, legs stretched and toes pointed before being flexed, then repeated in counts of eight. Most were girls, hair tied up so prettily, donning leotards of blush pink – a colour almost synonymous with their art – but a few handful were boys, grouped off to one side and challenging each other on who could stretch the furthest, hands reaching to pass their toes, clad in black unitards and a white shirt. However, as the others were cooling down, one boy was at the barre, facing the mirror at first position. His left foot brushed to the side to a point before turning the leg in and out, an exercise that was repeated as he moved his leg to the front, side and back before switching to the other leg and starting again.

Deciding that enough time had been wasted by peeking through the small window of the main door, a head popped inside following the twist of the doorknob. Immediately, little heads turned to the slight noise, voices tuning out and faces looking nervous that their teacher had stepped back in. Those thoughts instantly vanished and their lips spread into wide smiles when they realised who was at the door.

“Yuuri!” they exclaimed, scrambling to their feet to greet him. The boy at the barre flinched upon hearing the name being called out, whipping his head to the door but his legs continued their routine.

The man in question was bombarded with hugs, tiny hands tugging him inside the studio. He laughed at the warm welcome he received from the little ones but did not miss the furrow of pale eyebrows, nor the twist of lips into a sulky pout as the boy at the barre turned his gaze back to his form in the mirror. “Ah, I’m sorry, I can’t stay long today,” he declined their little pleas kindly, giving their shoulders a gentle pat, and that was met by cries of disappointment and groans asking him why. “I have an errand to run, just like every other Saturday,” he said calmly, eyes shifting to the blond boy at the barre who seemed to ignore him as he switched to doing pliés.

“Not fair, Yuri always gets your attention,” one girl whined but nevertheless let him go. The little ones went back to their cooldown stretches at Yuuri’s behest, a little saddened that Yuuri would not be able to entertain them today.

“Yurochka, don’t you think you should switch to your cool down about now?” Yuuri asked the boy as he placed both hands on his shoulders, his voice holding affection as he called him by a pet name. The blond moved back to first position and looked at Yuuri through the mirror with his sea green eyes that always managed to make Yuuri’s heart squeeze. Raising a hand, he smoothed it across the silky straw strands in adoration. “If you don’t hurry, we will be late and your dedushka would be sad,” he reminded gently, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

They both turned to the clock on the far side of the wall and the smaller of the two nodded, lips thinning in a way that Yuuri recognised to be restrained anger, probably at himself for wasting so much time. Yuuri wouldn’t have that so he kneaded his thumbs at the stiff posture in an attempt to relax the boy. “Do you want me to help you with your stretches?” Another nod from Yuri and they found themselves on the floor with Yuuri instructing the younger to not forget his toe exercises. He demonstrated with his own feet and guided Yuri’s feet into the correct position when it wasn’t up to Yuuri’s standards. The little ones that had not left yet looked over at them and followed along, much to Yuri’s distaste.

Stretches completed and their shoes packed in their bags, Yuuri took his time dressing little Yuri warm enough to survive in Siberia. He ignored the small grunt of protest when he wrapped a scarf that covered half his face and topped him off with a cat-eared fluffy hat – that came straight from Japan – to protect Yuri’s ears. Pudgy fingers pulled the scarf down so he may at least breathe, sucking a lungful of air. Yuuri merely laughed at the dramatics and fixed the scarf so Yuri didn’t drown in it, tucking the ends into his puffy down jacket.

“There, all set,” Yuuri commented, zipping up the red jacket and giving it a few pats. He beamed at just how adorable Yuri looked, albeit looking like he wouldn’t be able to get back up again were he to topple over. Swallowing the urge to coo, for it was surely something Yuri would not like him to do, he hiked their bags over one shoulder and held out his hand.

Yuri took it and they made their way out into the cold. Despite it being January, Winter was not as cruel today but the current snowfall combined with last night’s remains had made it hard to trudge through the snow, especially for one as small as Yuri. He halted, tugging lightly on Yuuri’s hand for attention. Yuuri looked down at him with pursed lips, clearly knowing what the little one wanted but waited patiently for actual words. Pulling his hand away from his guardian’s grasp, he instead lifted his arms and gave Yuuri a pointed look, one that said, “We’re going to be late.”

Though Yuuri would have preferred for him to say actual words rather than giving him face scrunches, he thought that this was as good as it was going to get with Yuri. Easily lifting the child, he settled Yuri on his hip while the boy clung to him much like a baby koala would to its mother. Without the need to wait on Yuri’s short gait, Yuuri was able to walk much faster in hopes of getting to their destination on time. Nikolai no doubt was already there waiting for his grandchild and Yuuri would surely get an earful were they to be late.

Yuri’s fingers fisted his jacket when Yuuri broke into a jog in order to make up for their lost time when he chanced a glance at a clock tower, his boots crunching loudly as he picked up speed and when a strong wind blew snow into their faces, Yuuri shielded the child in his arms as he clung tighter to him. Just in case, Yuuri rehearsed the apology for Nikolai in his head.

They had made it just in time but Yuuri apologised anyway, giving a deep bow when they arrived, leaving it up to Yuri to appease his frowning dedushka as the boy wiggled out of his grasp and ran to jump into Nikolai’s open arms. Yuuri’s heart melted a little, much like Nikolai’s glower did, when Yuri cuddled the man affectionately, mouth already running about his day’s activities. Yuri was far more vocal with his dedushka than with him, which he had expected, not that Yuuri minded but sometimes he wished Yuri could open up to him the same way as well.

The trio made their way inside, Yuri still prattling on about his current progress in class, Nikolai showing his delight in hums and grunts – Yuuri was convinced that Nikolai was where Yuri got most of his speech ability from. As the made their way further inside, they were greeted with bright lights and the tell-tale scrape of ice.

* * *

The first time Viktor saw Yuri Plisetsky was by pure chance at a private rink in Moscow. He had been accompanying Yakov on one of his quests to find new blood that had enough potential to be placed under his tutelage and be groomed into Russia’s next generation of skaters. Viktor at first scoffed at the notion but would many a time join him in his inquisition. He, however, felt the silly quest wasn’t of top priority, for it would be many years before their current Junior Team would progress to the senior division but it seemed Yakov wasn’t satisfied.

The old fart can be a little too greedy at times, wanting to have the first pick of the bunch and if that meant scouting skating rinks all across Russia during off-season, then so be it. He was very adamant about finding someone new this year, which was what the said last year and the year before that. They never did find the elusive prodigies, nor a single promising one either. The last one Yakov truly discovered was in fact, Viktor himself and that was many, many years ago, as Yakov would say.

Viktor had been inconsolable for days when Yakov had made the offhanded comment after he had innocently asked of his intentions, obsessively checking the whorl on his head and interrogating whoever was unlucky enough to share the same space with him if his hair was thinning. Though it was true Viktor had studied under Yakov for many years now, was there really an urgency to find the next golden child to fill his shoes? While he may be heading towards the end of his career as a competitive figure skater, Viktor was determined to push ahead and exceed everyone’s expectations of him, for surely Viktor Nikiforov’s light hadn’t dimmed yet.

“Because they need someone to look up to, Vitya!” boomed Yakov’s voice as he pushed Viktor back onto the ice, having just about enough of his moping. “Talent is nothing without inspiration and I want to groom the best fledgling, one that can look overhead to see what it’s like to rule the skies from a seasoned avian,” he paused to catch his breath and poked Viktor hard in the chest, face like a raging bulldog – this is why Viktor favoured poodles, they’re much cuter.

Happiness bloomed within him from Yakov’s words. “You see me as an eagle?” Viktor gasped in wonder, bringing a hand to his lips, truly touched by Yakov’s praise.

Yakov ignored the comment, removing his finger from his student as he tried to compose himself. “I don’t intend for the world to forget about you just yet, Vitya,” he said quietly, his eyes had held a sadness to them that made Viktor’s stomach lurch with guilt for even thinking that Yakov was out to replace him. “When we find that child, they won’t just be studying under my wing, but yours as well,” he grunted, stepping off the ice and took his usual place by the side of the rink, arms crossed in his usual coaching stance as he waited for Viktor to get into position.

Giving Yakov a heartened smile, Viktor straightened his shoulders and pushed off to a graceful glide, swaying his body lightly in remembrance of his program as he circled into the centre of the rink before coming to a stop. Carrying Yakov’s words within him, he had gathered the emotions he needed to convey in his performance to his body, the tip of his fingers and most importantly, his face. He brought his arms back, his body arching beautifully for his starting pose. His blue eyes opened when the music started and he began his story on the ice; of a hatchling that ended up being the most magnificent bird to ever soar in the sky.

Though the both of them were looking for someone more of the junior division age, Viktor couldn’t help but turn to the small blond boy lazily drawing figure eights. What was he, four? Five? Yet, he was already gliding across the ice so smoothly and without assistance. Viktor was supposed to be watching the dry run performances of some teenagers they were invited to watch on the other side of the rink because Yakov wanted his input on them, but he simply could not tear his eyes away from the child that looked like he was born to be on the ice. He could care less about the spins and jumps the gangly teenagers were doing because they could not compare to the effortlessness the boy exuberated. Viktor’s breath left him when he turned and started skating backwards. The transition was so fluid that Viktor found his lips stretching into a fond smile. He was a natural, that’s for sure.

Yakov voiced Viktor’s thoughts exactly, shifting closer to him with a hand cupped to the side of his mouth to whisper into Viktor’s ear – probably to protect the teenager from being too crushed least they overheard. “Now that’s talent.”

Viktor merely nodded in response, wanting to give his attention solely to the little skating prodigy. He was switching so seamlessly now from skating forwards to backwards, his arms opened that made it look like it was a choreographed dance sequence as he twirled. Oh, how beautiful he was in his element. He started to gain some speed and Viktor shot out from his seat before he could even execute the move, for he knew out of instinct what it was going to be.

An axel! He landed an axel!

Viktor’s breath escaped him when the blade touched the ice with a satisfying scrape. The impact it brought made someone give a low whimper and Viktor thought for a second it might have been him – it was. He never thought that he could feel this way watching such a little one skate, especially with the amount of exposure he had on the ice. It was so well executed too! Granted, the landing was a bit wobbly but it was nevertheless a clean axel. Viktor didn’t think this kid could surprise him any more than he did just then but it looked like the boy had more up his sleeve.

The leg that kicked off was strong and he was able to hold himself in balance as he spun a camel, the supporting leg surprisingly strong for his age. He definitely took ballet, Viktor thought, a finger subconsciously pressed to his lips. It was not uncommon for those who ice skate to also take up ballet as a supplementary for good form and balance. His speculations were confirmed when the outer leg was brought in with ease during a switch of stance –  a sign of having a steady core.

Arms were tucked in before reaching upwards as the rotations of the scratch spin gradually got faster and faster, making Viktor’s blue eyes widen in amazement on just how much talent could come from such a small body. Viktor didn’t understand it but there was a sense of pride that welled within him as he watched the look of accomplishment spread on his cherubic face. He briefly wondered if this what it was like to –

“That’s my Yurotchka!”

The loud whoop startled Viktor out of his musings and he saw the boy dashing towards a rather gruff looking man wearing a grey flat cap, who had immediately enveloped him in a hug when they collided. That should be their guardian, Viktor noted. The small child kept asking the man, who Viktor later found out was his dedushka, if it looked as good as the people on TV did. Viktor had half a mind to march over to them and tell them that yes, it did indeed but he didn’t want to ruin their sweet moment together. Instead, Viktor turned in his seat towards Yakov, giving him _the look_.

“No, Vitya,” Yakov interrupted before Viktor could even ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue. “I don’t coach tykes,” he tried to explain but at that point, even his normally firm voice didn’t sound all that convincing.

Viktor gave an undignified snort as he sat back down and crossed his arms petulantly like a child. “That’s a lie and you know it,” he hissed accusingly, referring to himself.

Yakov sighed, taking his hat off to run a hand over his receding hairline. “Not anymore,” he grunted the correction. When Viktor whined, Yakov sent him a pointed look. “He is not some puppy you can take home, Vitya! He is young. _Too_ young. There is a reason why I’m only taking in those of junior league age.”

“Why not? He can’t be too far from my age when you took me in,” Viktor pressed, not making an effort to hide the dissatisfaction in his voice and that only made Yakov’s disapproving frown deepen.

He didn’t see any problem with accepting this child to learn under Yakov. Sure, he was young but so was Viktor back then. He had walked down that path and look how he turned out; a podium placer in every competition. “He’s perfect! You saw him. He’s too young for the Junior Team but there are always other competitions that he can enter. Just imagine how much better he will be once he does enter Russia’s Junior Team. You can do it Yakov, you did it once before and you can do it again.  Here is the rising star you’ve always wanted to groom, so why are you not taking that chance with him like you did with me?” Viktor listed all his points to try and reason with his coach.

Viktor did not expect the solemn look that Yakov gave him. “You don’t understand, Vitya,” he sighed and shook his head. “It’s not the same this time. Look at that child. Really _look_ at him. Look at how happy he is to dance for his dedushka. Look at him and tell me that you really have the heart to tear that boy away from a loving family to come to St. Petersburg and train the rest of his life as a sportsman,” he bellowed, eyes flashing in anger as he continually jabbed his pointer finger at the pair’s direction.

Viktor was quiet, the full weight of Yakov’s words sinking in and settling heavily in his gut as he watched the boy pull his protesting dedushka onto the ice. Yakov was still breathing harshly next to him, trying to reel back his anger. Seeing the boy’s carefree smile as he tried to teach his dedushka to mimic the graceful turns he did on the ice made Viktor turn away almost painfully. He understood what Yakov had meant and he could see that the boy wasn’t exactly in the same position that Viktor was in when he was younger. This boy just wanted to skate, not compete like he did. Viktor’s past circumstance was of a special case.

Viktor had, from an early age been thrust into the competitive world of ice skating out of his own choice, knowing what it meant to fight to the top. The boy, Yuri, could make his own choices when he was ready, not have two men suddenly impose that decision on him. Taking Yuri in would mean shipping the small child to St. Petersburg and while Viktor was fortunate enough to be born in the city, they simply could not change home rinks and relocate the team to Moscow for a boy that won’t even be competing internationally.

“Do you understand now, Vitya?” Yakov asked, voice low.

“Yes,” Viktor responded, sounding defeated. He understood but something tugged on him as the boy glided on the ice. Viktor wanted him. Wanted to see him become more beautiful, to have him enthral the world with his dance. Viktor wanted Yuri to be more than just a member of the National Team, he wanted him to be his little protégé...

His legacy of the figure skating world.

“But?” Yakov questioned with a raised eyebrow, clearly knowing that Viktor would not let this go quietly.

Licking his lips, Viktor turned away from Yuri. He’d always been a selfish man and he felt terrible for the next string of words that came out of his mouth, voice cold and emotionless. “It’s a shame. I think he would fit perfectly in our world. We could shape him.”

Silence ensued. Even the rink had gone oddly quiet, only muted scratches between blades and ice. It was like a punch to the gut for Viktor, the silence a reprimand him of his careless comment but the silence paled in comparison to what Yakov had to say to him about that.

“You mean break him? Let him enjoy his innocence for a little while longer, Vitya.” Yakov’s words were a quiet murmur, yet venomous like a wasp’s sting. He then got up and left Viktor there to look at the young skater with cheeks warming from shame. Viktor almost wanted to take back his words. _Almost_. For he does desire the worst fate for Yuri.

Viktor was a selfish man after all.

Yet, he was not so selfish as to separate a child from his family merely for his own wishes – but he could imagine it. So, it was with a heavy heart that Viktor watched Yuri spend the rest of his time on the ice, indulging himself of what it would be like were he to give him the tools of the trade and dazzle the audience like he had enchanted Viktor. He left the rink that day more heartbroken than he’d ever felt before and tried to drown his feelings with vodka once night had fallen. How many shots? Only the bartender knew.

Oh, if only Yuri was his.

* * *

Yuuri Katsuki. That was the name of the man dancing on stage right then. The one distinguishably not Russian by any means, Viktor decided after he found out his name – he was too far from the stage to be able to pick up any distinctive facial features – but he sure danced like one, the Vaganova technique soaked deep into his very bones.

Viktor’s eyes went back to the program he held in his hand. Yuuri Katsuki was a soloist within the ballet ranks and a rather beautiful one at that, enough to be selected to dance centre stage with his duet partner for the company. The both of them were dressed in colours of powder and robin blue, wearing headpieces adorned with feathers and crystals, dancing in synchronisation, complimenting each other.

Viktor had attended many ballet performances back in St. Petersburg but this was his first time at a theatre in Moscow. As Viktor turned his attention to the stage again to continue watching the performance, he wondered why he hadn’t because there was just something about Moscow’s ballet company that was far bolder, more expressively explosive that outshined St. Petersburg’s and Viktor liked that.

He bit his lip when Yuuri made a grand jeté, lean strong legs perfectly positioned as he leapt into the air, toes beautifully pointed before landing elegantly. It was strong, powerful even but at the same time so graceful and light. Viktor would forever lament his loss of not being able to bear witness this man’s exquisite footwork, his fluid leaps across the stage, the beautiful lines his body makes and the face he displays as he embodies his character sooner. That unfortunate matter would henceforth be corrected.

Leaning back against his seat, Viktor watched the rest of the story unfold with a dreamy sigh. He was enraptured by this man, body twisting and leaping, creating a music of its own. Steps right on count, the flawless twirls, his facial expressions, the musicality, the drama. Viktor found himself inspired to choreograph a piece based on his body movements alone, taking note of how he could translate them onto the ice. If Yuuri had been a figure skater, he would give Viktor a run for his money.

Moscow had been generous to Viktor, blessing him with two beautiful Yuris so adept in their chosen art form for Viktor to indulge himself in. Just with blossoming skater Yuri, Viktor was enraptured by soloist Yuuri, leaving him wanting for more and a little heartbroken by the end of the show. Yuuri may not have been the lead character and it was usually the women that garnered the most attention, but it was Yuuri alone that had imprinted himself onto Viktor thoughts as he exited the grand theatre – no doubt that he would be dreaming about those legs for _weeks_.

Viktor had made sure to send Yuuri a bouquet of flowers, scheduling them to be delivered to the theatre before his next performance of the week, in appreciation for giving him a most memorable show. Feeling how his rink mate Georgi would have liked the storyline for the ballet, he’d had gotten him a poster as a souvenir on his way out.

When Viktor left Moscow, he doubted that he would be so fortunate as to come across such raw talent again.

* * *

Viktor walked into the rink that day with a heavy sigh. His lazy mornings cuddling with Makkachin had come to an abrupt halt when Yakov had called him that morning, scolding him for being two hours late. Yakov had returned to St. Petersburg from his annual search for Russia’s next skating phenomenon earlier than usual and their training schedule was to resume as normal. He’d had to reason with his little darling Makkachin that he wouldn’t be able to stay with her till after lunchtime like he had for the past week.

“Meanie Yakov is back today and I have to leave in the mornings again, Makka,” he tried to explain to his saddened poodle, rubbing her ears in an attempt to calm her heart-breaking whimpers. How he wished Yakov would have kept searching for the next supposed golden child so he could have the extra hours to spend with Makkachin but apparently, he had found someone suitable and wanted to try some kid out, instructing Viktor to meet him as to show the child what’s it like being on Russia’s National Team.

As always, Viktor would turn up his nose each time Yakov mentioned anything about that matter. He had turned down the numerous invitations Yakov had extended to go with him on his trips since that day two years ago and said that he would only be willing to accompany him once Yuri was old enough to be scouted for Russia’s Junior Team.

Viktor was still convinced that no one, absolutely no one, would be nearly good enough in his books unless they were taking in Yuri from Moscow, so asking for a second opinion from him would prove to be pointless. He would be reprimanded each time for his little tantrum and what Yakov deemed to be an act of noncompliance, his coach demanding an extra set of jumps or to go perfect his step sequences because of the sass Viktor was giving him.

Though it would take a couple of years, to which Viktor would probably be retired by the time Yuri could even be considered as a candidate, it would give Viktor the utmost joy if Yuri were to represent Russia in figure skating. He unwaveringly believed that the boy had the talent and the passion for carrying it through. Viktor wanted to see him on the ice again, preferably at their home rink for practice or in due time competing in different rinks all across the world, donning Russia’s colours on a team jacket. His heart would swell each time he entertained himself with that idea of Yuri blossoming right before his very eyes, his crazy imagination had even gone so far as to plant an idea of him coaching the boy once he retired.

So, it came as a great surprise to Viktor to see the blond youth gliding backwards across their home rink when he had stepped out of the locker room after his warm up stretch. Just like the first time Viktor saw him, he was mesmerised, jaw falling slack. He wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real or if he was still back in bed at his flat and all this was just a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time for Viktor to be caught in the illusion his mind had conjured. He had been cheering for Yuri as he skated to something Viktor had choreographed, the crowd a roar of screams and applause once Yuri took his final bow, only for Viktor to be yanked out of sleep by Makkachin asking to be let out. Needless to say, it had left him frustrated that it wasn’t real and he wouldn’t lie that he half wished he could have stayed in that dream for a bit longer.

Viktor’s eyes darted to various points of the rink, trying to find something that was amiss in case he was at the mercy of another dream – he really didn’t want to get his hopes up and be utterly crushed once he opened his eyes. However, nothing seemed out of place; there were the correct number of support beams, the rink was of a familiar size and shape, the far end of the wall still supported the large Russian flag and crest and one of his posters on the wall still had the doodles he had made yesterday of him in a flower crown with stars and a rainbow in the background. What were the odds of his dream being _that_ finely detailed?

None.

He had pinched his right thigh just to make sure because he was still in a state of denial – and _oww_ did that hurt! So, Yuri _was_ here dancing at the St. Petersburg rink and Viktor’s lower lip quivered in trying to contain his giddiness of having the boy train at their home rink. Viktor felt like Yakov had given him an early birthday present and he really didn’t know what he did to deserve this because all he’d been giving his coach was a lot of sass. When Yakov had said he’d found someone, Viktor really didn’t think he would actually manage to get little Yuri from Moscow! Viktor smiled dopily to himself, that same curl of warmth building up in his chest like the first time he saw him.

Yuri was breathtaking, body moving to the music that was pulsing through the speakers. Yakov was at the other end of the rink, eyes focused on the boy’s form, giving him corrections where he deemed fit. “That leg could be extended a little more on that last spiral and remember, you’re not doing a ballet arabesque so your torso doesn’t need to be held upright,” he commented and Viktor had to agree as it seemed Yuri’s movements were more ballet-oriented but that was probably why he had such a graceful form while skating.

_Like a fairy_ , Viktor thought as Yuri skated past him with backward crossovers, his backward glide as he rounded the corner to a double toe loop was so seamless, it genuinely looked as if he had invisible wings to make him as light as air. Just like the mythical winged creatures, Viktor felt a pull towards Yuri, to see more, to get closer.

“He’s really good, isn’t he?” Georgi, with his signature quiff, leaned in to whisper to him. Viktor hadn’t even realised that he was already standing on the ice, skate guards gone heaven knows where – when did he even do that? “Yakov said he will be spending the Summer with us.”

A whole Summer with Yuri? Viktor was beyond elated! They would finally meet and Viktor was going to show him every trick in the book and then some, in hopes of persuading him to think about doing figure skating competitively. That was probably Yakov’s plan from the start, the sly dog. Viktor was miffed that this had been kept from him but then again, he did serve Yakov sass on a silver platter for the last two years – more so than usual anyway – not that it mattered anymore because Yuri’s finally here!

He had grown so much since Viktor last saw him. Viktor could see that he’d had a small growth spurt and had less rounded cheeks now, his built a bit leaner, longer, that of a dancer and less like a pudgy kindergartener. His blond tresses were no longer hidden by cat-eared hats but were now free to swish and sway as he skated, only clips kept it from getting in his eyes. Yuri hadn’t just grown physically, his skills on the ice had increased in difficulty as well and the praises just kept flowing from Yakov.

“Yes, good, very nice lines, Yuri,” he applauded Yuri’s waltz jump. “Bend that knee a little bit more on your Ina Bauer, stretch your spine as far back as you can, yes, that’s my boy, excellent!”

“He’s perfect!” Viktor choked back a sob, smacking his hands on his cheeks. Not only could this boy skate but he was flexible to boot!

Georgi beside him chuckled. “Oh, you think that’s impressive?” he posed with a raised eyebrow and Viktor could only pout at what Georgi was getting at because he’d seen what Yuri could do at four years old. “I’ve seen them run his routine a couple of times with minor modifications but Yakov didn’t touch anything on the ending. This is really something have to see this with your own eyes.”

Georgi was gushing. The only thing Georgi would gush about, as far as Viktor knew, was of his girlfriend Anya on the Women’s Ice Dancing Team. Then Viktor stopped thinking about ice dancing or Anya or Georgi because Yuri had started spinning a camel, body perfectly centred before curling in into a doughnut spin, a brief transition to a haircutter before pulling up into a half biellman. “Is this real life?” Viktor hissed, grabbing Georgi by the shoulders and shaking him like a rag doll.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” was Georgi’s only reply – he was pretty used to Viktor’s theatrics by now – his dark eyes following the young blond skater.

Viktor was about to question what Georgi meant by that but Georgi merely pushed the side of Viktor’s face to guide him back to Yuri’s direction, just in time to see him do a flying camel spin. The music’s tempo was slowing, the strings in the ensemble sustained to a fade, signalling that the song was ending and Yuri switched positions then, doing different variations of a lay back spin, arms and free leg making different shapes, ending with a haircutter spin transitioning to a biellman for the finale as the music died out. To pull off a full biellman, in general, was difficult enough, for it required some flexibility but Yuri…

Georgi was clapping enthusiastically while Yakov grinned like a Cheshire cat. Viktor, on the other hand, was _floored_ , both hands covering his mouth as he gasped. Not only had Yuri managed to execute a biellman but he had gone the extra mile to grab hold of his extended leg to pull it till it was almost a perfect 180-degree angle. “Wow,” Viktor breathed out unable to come up with anything intelligible when Yuri released his leg and did a gentle glide before striking his final pose. There was so much he wanted to say about how beautiful it was but his mind had short-circuited. Georgi rubbed his back in consolation, knowing exactly what was going on in Viktor’s head.

Yuri’s arms dropped, hands gripping his knees as he tried to catch his breath and calm his racing heartbeat. When he righted himself again, Viktor could see how satisfied he was with that piece, some moisture that may or may not have been sweat gathering at the corners of his eyes. His blond head perked up as if remembering something and he started looking around the rink until teal green eyes fell on Viktor.

Viktor was a bit taken aback when he saw how those eyes held some sort of recognition within them because Viktor had wanted to meet Yuri for the longest time now. His heart rate picked up, nervous as to what Yuri might think of him. Viktor wetted his lips, trying to get his brain to work again and say something to the boy, particularly about his splendid performance. Come on, Nikiforov don’t just stand there like an idiot! His mouth opened but nothing came out, so he closed it again.

Smooth, Viktor, real smooth.

Before he could get a chance to have a go at it again, though, Yuri’s face broke into the most dazzling smile and it was aimed right at _Viktor_. Viktor’s heart – and ever part of him – all but melted into a gloopy heap. Just how precious could this child be? Yuri must’ve looked up to him, yes? Strived to be as good as Viktor, no? Those sparkling eyes of green seas had asked for his efforts to be acknowledged, to seek approval, approval from Viktor, and by damn would Viktor give it to him, but he deserved so much more than just Viktor’s praise. Viktor would even give Yuri the world if he so asked for it at the drop of a hat.

“Papochka!” Yuri called out and Viktor swore his heart stopped beating. It definitely wasn’t anything he had expected from Yuri. There had to be some sort of mistake, right? People had been poking fun at how old he was getting, maybe his hearing had deteriorated or something. “Papochka, I did it!” Yuri cried out again, voice shaking as more tears welled up in his eyes.

Nope, Viktor definitely heard that right.

Viktor clutched his heart, breath leaving him in a rush when he had heard it for the second time. Yuri had called Viktor his father. Yuri hadn’t addressed him as atsets, heck, he didn’t even call him papa! Yuri said _papochka_. Papochka! It was a more affectionate, almost cutesy way of calling your papa and it was quickly turning to be Viktor’s favourite word. Viktor’s heart soared. Yuri had called him papochka! Amidst his happiness, Viktor briefly wondered as to why Yuri would call him that. Did Yuri know that Viktor was somehow his father? Was that why he’s here now, to reach out to him through skating?

Then Yuri started dashing towards Viktor and all his earlier doubts regarding Yuri had been wiped clean from his mind. Yuri’s strides were long as he pushed himself forwards to reach Viktor, arms opened and ready to embrace his papochka in a hug. Viktor immediately darted off and all that was running through his mind at the time was _Yuri, Yuri, my son, Yuri_! Viktor had waited to hold this boy in his arms, wanting to tell him how proud he was and how much he had grown. The pride he felt when he had first seen Yuri skate finally clicked and it suddenly made sense as to why he was being borderline obsessive in wanting to mentor him so much. Viktor decided he didn’t want to waste any more time being separated from his Yuri.

_His little boy_ , Yuri.

“Yuri!” Viktor cried out happily, lowering himself to a lunge so he was at a proper height to hold his son. It was almost impossible to hold back the tears upon seeing Yuri scrambling to reach him and Viktor readily stretched his arms out so he may catch Yuri when he jumped into his waiting arms.

Only for Yuri to zoom past him and leave him stunned.

_Huh?_

Viktor blinked rapidly a couple of times, trying to register what just happened. Easily, he pivoted himself around and propped back up from his lunge, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. Yuri hadn’t gone for Viktor but instead, launched himself to a man standing by the gate – his real father. Blood rushed to colour Viktor’s ears and dust his cheeks at the misunderstanding. Of course Yuri wasn’t his – oh heavens, he really messed up. Viktor chanced at glance at Yakov to assess just how much trouble he was in. His coach had his face hidden by his gloved hands, the words that were muffled had probably been too obscene for little Yuri’s ears to be spoken aloud. At least Georgi was on his side – sort of. His rink mate was going on about how Yuri’s performance had invoked an emotional awakening within him as well; of a constant longing to be with his Anya – in short, just Georgi being Georgi.

Viktor guessed he could pass off his little flub as being swayed by Yuri’s skating but in all bluntness, it was a combination of misinterpreting the situation and getting caught up in the tangle of emotions he’d unconsciously garnered through his impression of Yuri – nothing new, really. Still, to insinuate that Yuri was possibly his lovechild – in front of his own parent, no less – that was certainly something new to add into his book altogether. Though Viktor was never one to find it beneath him in admitting if he was wrong and so skated his way to the pair to offer his sincerest apology.

There were happy sobs coming from Yuri as he hid his face in his father’s chest, the man cooing to him softly to soothe him as he rubbed his son’s quivering back. “You looked so wonderful, zvezda moya. I am so proud of you,” he spoke into Yuri’s hair.

Viktor was hearing Russian being spoken by the man but at the same time, he was not. There was a distinct accent that made it clear he was not a native. Wow, he never pegged Yuri as being of multiracial parentage! When Yuri finally calmed down, his father lifted his face to offer Viktor a kind smile and a small wave.

Was it possible to die from constantly being surprised?

Yes. He’d read that it was definitely possible – he saw a story about it on Instagram too so it _must_ be true.

Viktor knew this man, watched him on the stages of Moscow’s theatres when he could or through the screen of his laptop and phone when he couldn’t. Viktor even created a playlist of whatever videos he managed to scrape from the internet (for routine references of course!) He recognised that face from the fuzzy videos and the pictures of him from when he’d ~~stalked~~ gone through his internet profiles – or rather lack of.

Was Viktor dying? Because that’s the only plausible reason as to why all his wishes, both openly spoken and kept in the dark, were being granted right at this moment.

Staring at him behind blue framed glasses was none other than Yuuri Katsuki.


	2. Katsuki Yuuri's Life and Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to thank everyone who had taken the time to read and leave kudos and comments. I was overwhelmed at how positively this fic had been received. The first chapter alone got more that 150 kudos? Like, wow, that's never happened before haha Thank you so much and I really appreciate the feedback and support that I got from you. The past month had been especially hard and if you're following me on tumblr, I'm sorry I'm such a trainwreck. I'm still recovering and writing this chapter was really hard and it had gone through numerous revisions because I just wasn't happy with it. Even so, this chapter, in particular, embodied a lot of personal issues that I'm going through in Yuuri's point of view and I sincerely hope I didn't just screw myself but that's up to you guys. Nevertheless, it ended up being 11K+ instead of the usual 6/7K per chapter. Does that make up for anything? Probs not... I've been anxious for days now about uploading this tbh so I do hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Umm... not a lot of Viktuuri yet and from the first line alone, you're either going to like this chapter or hate it *laughs nervously* I'm scared now! I thought it'd be better to just rip the band-aid off and never have to go through this again so please give it a chance! haha but I think this chapter is essential to shape Yuuri in this AU and I promise to deliver the Viktuuri ASAP but please enjoy the ending! Enough rambling, I'll see you at the end notes! Enjoy!

* * *

Her name was Yulia Plisetskaya.

Yuuri first met her during his first month at the academy. He had been thirteen, still in the midst of losing his baby fat, spoke only a handful of Russian from what he learned in his academic classes and was the only Japanese in his year. Like the boys, the girls did some warm up stretches outside in the hall as they waited for their studios to be used for the day. Yuuri had not made any real progress with making friends yet but the boys in his class were nice enough to make conversation with him in broken English for the convenience of both parties every now and then. That morning though he wasn’t involved in their discussion of fast paced Russian so he stretched in silence. Well, that had been the plan until Yulia had crawled her way to him mid-stretch.

Her Russian was too fast for him to understand when she decided to lean back against the wall next to him. Yuuri blinked a couple of time trying to figure out what she was saying but mostly he was flustered that a pretty girl like Yulia would go over to him. He was somehow saved by his classmate that told her he was yaponskiy (Japanese) – a word he knew as he’d been using them in his introductions – and that he couldn’t speak Russian all too well yet.

She laughed and apologised in English but then pointed to his backpack, more specifically, to the cluster of keychains he’d hung on one of the zippers. “Very pretty,” she commented. “From Yaponiya?” she asked curiously, a hand stretching out to touch them but it was pulled back when she realised she was being rude.

Yuuri scrambled to offer her his backpack, lifting the bunch so she may take a look at it. “Douzo, douzo!” he ushered, slipping into Japanese in his panic but it seemed he managed to get the point across. “Eto… All anime kyarakutaa. Zhnat’?” he tried to explain when she started to look over each one of them with genuine interest. However, blonde brows knitted in confusion at Yuuri’s sentence as she paused in what she was doing. Internally panicking, Yuuri searched every nook and cranny of his brain for the right words.

“Animatsya,” another one of the boys interjected helpfully and provided the proper translation – one that was more grammatically correct – so Yulia wasn’t so confused.

Yuuri could only bob his head in agreement while he translated. The kind smile Yulia sent his way had Yuuri looking down at his wiggling toes in embarrassment at his incapability of conversation – even in his own mother tongue. He muttered an apology in Japanese anyway, intent on expressing his regret even if it meant that it would fall on deaf ears. Even so, he gave her the names of each character she inspected on the keychain with scrutiny.

“Ah, kotik!” she exclaimed suddenly, making Yuuri’s shoulders jump at the sudden increase in volume. Yuuri’s eyes slid to what Yulia was referring to and it turned out she’d came across a familiar small blue figurine and cradled it gently in her hands. “Kavai!”

Yuuri’s stomach lurched at the single word. Okay, he definitely knew what the word meant and he smiled at the similarity of its pronunciation to his mother tongue. “Da, kawaii,” he repeated in his native language, nodding. “Ano neko – ah, janakutte... Kotik…? Imya Doraemon,” Yuuri fumbled, using an array of hand gestures.

Again, Yulia didn’t seem at all bothered by his rough dialogue but rather, her nose scrunched up in concentration at trying to pronounce it. “D-Dora…” she tried, her tongue stumbling at the foreign enunciation.

“Do. Ra. E. Mo. N,” he said slowly, stressing each phonetic.

The both of them went over it a few more times until Yulia was able to say it without a hitch. “Doraemon!” she said confidently giving a small fist pump at how much her intonation came close to Yuuri’s.

Nodding, Yuuri’s smile was wide and he hadn’t realised he’d been grinning over such a simple thing as Doraemon; a humanoid cat that was basically the anime version of Mary Poppins with his magical pouch. He had never admitted it before that day but he had really missed Japan. He missed his family, the inn, the smell and taste of his mother’s katsudon, the cries of gulls in Hasetsu. Yuuri was homesick, braving a whole new world at just thirteen and it took such an unassuming conversation about his favourite anime characters to a Russian girl for it to really hit him.

A pat on his cheek brought him back to the present and glazed eyes tried to focus. “Ulybnites’” Yulia urged, rubbing his cheek and instead of smiling, Yuuri’s jaw dropped, stunned.

He’d known that personal space wasn’t that of Japan in most countries but this was… – His whole body quivered, mouth open and closing in an attempt to say something but only resulted in him mimicking a fish out of water. From the corner of his eye, he could see the boy who had helped him before shoot him a thumbs up – for what, he wasn’t quite sure because his mind was too busy trying to wrap around his current predicament.

When Yuuri failed to comply, Yulia took matters into her own hands – quite literally – and pushed the corners of his mouth up. “ _Ulybnites’_ ,” she insisted and Yuuri was so taken aback by what she did that he actually broke into laughter.

Maybe… Maybe he could survive Russia after all. Beaming at Yulia, he tried to get his gratefulness across without the use of words.

Pleased at how she got Yuuri to smile again, Yulia returned the gesture with a grin of her own. “Kavai,” she commented sweetly, patting his cheek once more. Yuuri’s ears flushed hot red at that. “Menya zovut, Yulia,” she gestured to herself, a hand to her chest that reminded Yuuri of a cartoon he’d seen about a young woman introducing herself to a Wildman in the deep jungles of Africa.

“Y-Yuuri,” he nervously gave out his own name with a small bow of his own – a cultural trait so engrained he’d probably never get rid of.

Yulia seemed surprised, as did others whenever Yuuri would reveal his name for the first time as apparently, there was a Russian equivalent to it, albeit pronounced differently and Yuuri anxiously waited for his name to be mispronounced.

“Yuri?” she echoed, a question on her lips to confirm if she’d heard it right.

Ah, there it was.

Shaking his head, Yuuri corrected her. “ _Yuu-_ ri,” he emphasised on the first half of his name, a much longer and more intonated sound. Yuuri wouldn’t normally do this; he would just let it slide, feeling it was rude to correct someone just because the intonation was a little off but there was a look in Yulia’s eyes that told him that she genuinely wanted to say it properly, much like how she had worked hard with Doraemon’s name.

“Yuuri,” she tried again, slowly rolling his name off her tongue.

“Un!” he approved with a few nods of his head, fists clenched to contain how happy he was that there would be at least one person who would call him by his birth name and not the Russian version of it.

Yulia looked triumphant, sea green eyes sparkling, her lips pressed together to hide her smirk. She tugged on his shirt, motioning to the forgotten cluster of keychains and lifted another character to ask for their name.

With a chuckle, Yuuri continued his introduction of the rest of his collection. After they had finished with the keychains, they’d moved on to the various pin buttons that decorated the flap of his bag. Yulia would trace each button giving little comments in Russian that Yuuri knew no meaning to but he had hope that she at least found them interesting. Well, the man eating monster that looked like it had been turned inside out was probably too much… Yulia quickly shifted to the next button though and didn’t press for details.

A terrified squeak was torn from him at the stinging sensation blooming on his arm from when he was unexpectedly barraged by Yulia’s hand smacking away at him. Instinctively, he tried to tear away from the onslaught before being grabbed by the front of his shirt – Yulia was strangely strong for her petite form. His mind was racing and the Russian thrown his way was far too fast for him to process. Had he somehow offended her? A few heads turned their way but it seemed that this occurrence was quite normal to them.

Then he caught it. Two words amongst what sounded like gibberish to him that made sense.

 _Sailor Moon_.

Brown eyes shifted to the button responsible for this. “You like?” he asked in a timid voice but partly because his air supply was dwindling. He was trying not to get himself killed so he prayed to whatever deity who would hear him that he’d made the right choice of words.

When Yulia sucked her breath through her teeth, Yuuri thought for a second that he might be done for because her grip on his shirt only tightened and he was brought forward till their noses touched. He wanted to screw his eyes shut, slightly afraid of what she would do to him, but he couldn’t, those green eyes ensnared him, just daring him to look away. Yuuri swallowed with difficulty like he was trying to force cotton balls down his throat.

Looks like he guessed wrong.

“Like? _Like?_ ” she demanded incredulously, pressing their nose together and Yuuri held his breath because this was far too close for comfort. In the background, he was aware of the girls giggling behind their hands. This was it, Yuuri knew it. Yulia was going to deliver the final blow. This time he did manage to close his eyes, shoulders bunched in expectation from when Yulia would lay it on him.

“I _love_ ,” Yulia hissed, her breath washing over his face and Yuuri, a little befuddled, peeked an eye open. However, he found that his world was thrown upside down as he fell backwards when Yulia suddenly released him to throw her hands into the air. He thanked his lucky stars his fall was cushioned by the thick carpet of the hallway. From his position and through a hazy vision – his glasses were knocked off in the fall – he saw Yulia strike a pose he remembered from when he watched the show at Yuuko’s house with her and Takeshi.

 _Oh_. She was a _fan_.

Pushing himself off the floor, Yulia took it upon herself to readjust his glasses for him and gave him a sheepish apology for her overexcitement. “Umm… That’s okay,” he ensured her, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked back at the pin badge with the Sailor Moon logo again. Memories of him, Takeshi and Yuuko squatting at the neighbourhood park returning to him.

The three of them had just gotten back from the convenience store, each child holding a silver packet in their hands. They’d saved a week’s worth of lunch money to buy the lucky draw prize the store was holding. They shook it, exchanging the packets between them and ran their thumbs over the opaque plastic to try and find any distinctive feature that could predict which character they had managed to get – not something they would likely be able to do since the prize was a button badge and the texture was all smooth. They had agreed earlier that they would keep whatever they got, no backsies once the packet was opened.

Yuuri had hoped to get Takushido Kamen, the main man in the series and of course the love interest of Sailor Moon. Both he and Yuuko were huge fans of him, the two hoping to get his button in their prize packet – though truth be told, Yuuri would have easily given Yuuko a Tuxedo Mask badge if he was lucky enough to get it.

“One, two, _three_!” they counted in sync, tearing the packet open on three and pulled out their prize. There was a gasp, a groan, whereas Yuuri just stared at the pin badge on his open palm in silence.

It wasn’t Tuxedo Mask, nor was it an undisguised Chiba Mamorou, nor any of the other Sailors, not even Luna! Heck, there was no character at all, just the crystal heart. To say he was disappointed was an understatement. He hoped to at least get _someone_ but instead, he’d gotten the ‘mystery’ prize which was common in these kinds of lucky draws. Often, these mystery prizes were one of a kind rare item or just a character with a different look than those advertised but hey, just Yuuri’s luck to get a dud. He felt like crying and he probably would have if Yuuko hadn’t taken hold of his hand.

“Wow, Yuuri-kun! You got the mystery prize, that’s amazing! You must have incredible luck!” Yuuko cheered.

Swallowing the urge to sniff, Yuuri tilted his head. “Really?” he asked, uncertain, big brown eyes looking hopefully to his friend.

Beside him, Takeshi bemoaned, “Ugh, not fair! Even Pudge got a cooler button! I don’t even like this character, this stinks!”

Taking a look at the button in Takeshi’s hand had Yuuri jut his lower lip out in a sulk. _Of course,_ Takeshi _had_ to be the one out of the three of them to get Tuxedo Mask. He sighed looking at his button again.

“Eh, you don’t like Takushido Kamen, Takeshi-kun?” Yuuko questioned. “But I thought you liked Mamorou?”

“Yeah, I do but he gets all flashy whenever he becomes Takushido Kamen. I really wanted to get Sailor Mercury or Ami,” Takeshi sighed, playing with the badge pin by flipping it between his fingers. “She’s smart _and_ pretty, my kind of girl,” he said dreamily.

Yuuko gave a melodious laugh. “Don’t worry, maybe we’ll get lucky next time,” she said, hopeful. “I only managed to get Sailor Moon which is okay but I really wanted Takushido Kamen! Both Takeshi-kun and Yuuri-kun are so lucky!” she cried, waving her arms about.

Takeshi snorted. “Nuh uh, Pudge’s the only one who scored,” he grunted, poking Yuuri’s belly. “Too bad we can’t have backsies,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

Paying no mind to Takeshi’s usual teasing comment on his chubbiness – Yuuri was adamant that his baby fat would melt off one day – he cast his eyes to the side, pouting still. At least the two of them actually _had_ characters on their buttons, he thought bitterly. He knew that all their problems could easily have been solved if they’d just traded between themselves but they’d _pinkie promised_ that they wouldn’t!

“Maybe just this once?” he suggested, only to be met by scandalised responses by his friends.

“No way!”

“We promised, Yuuri-kun!”

“Okay, okay, bad idea,” Yuuri yielded with a soft huff. At least he tried. So, in the end, he was stuck with the button he didn’t want and had it pinned amongst his other collection as a remembrance of that day.

Until today that is.

“Yulia?” Yuuri called out suddenly as he snapped out of his memories. She hummed in acknowledgement, finger caressing the slightly scratched surface of the button. Yuuri reached out for the button with shaky hands to unclip it and when he securely snapped the pointy end into its cradle, he presented the button to Yulia with two hands. “Douzo,” he offered, biting his lip.

Yulia stared at the offered button for such a long while that Yuuri was starting to sweat in nervousness but then she flicked her eyes to Yuuri’s face. “For me?” she asked in a whisper, gesturing to herself. Yuuri nodded, presenting it to her once more. “Yuuri, are you sure?” Yulia still hesitated but Yuuri kept nudging the button towards her.

A part of him had been reluctant to give it to her. There was a brief mental argument that the pin badge had some sentimental value and was one of the very few things that reminded him of his friends back home, despite the bittersweet memory attached to it. He knew that and wanted to cling onto some part of Japan with him while he lived in Russia till he graduated from the academy or even longer but he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to survive if he didn’t adapt, so he squashed the ill feelings down and made his resolve. Yuuko and Takeshi would always be with him and while that button held a piece of them, it didn’t represent their friendship. He felt both Yuuko and Takeshi would be happy to know that their button would be able to open new doors for Yuuri.

“Douzo,” he repeated, and quietly added, “Honno kimochidesu.” A token of his gratitude. This was what it was.

When he first arrived in Russia, Yuuri was certain that no one would pay the foreigner any mind and he was almost okay with that. All he had to do was concentrate solely on his dance till he was eighteen and he should be alright. He wasn’t much of a socialiser back home anyway so it shouldn’t have made a difference whether he made friends here or not but oh just how _wrong_ he was. He had been _miserable_ with the lack of human interaction but his anxiety had kept him from making the first move. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, he might as well try because really, what was there for him to lose?

Almost cautiously, Yulia took the offered button, eyes glittering in awe. She brought the button to her chest, holding it close. “Oh, Yuuri,” she whispered his name in reverence. “You really shouldn’t have… It’s so pretty,” she mumbled and the rest of the words were lost to Yuuri as she caressed the button lovingly, looking at it like it was some kind of precious stone rather than a scratched old pin.

Yuuri chewed on his bottom lip. Even though her reaction had been positive, he was still anxious. “I wanted you to have it and it makes me happy that you really like it,” he responded in Japanese, not trusting himself to convey the words in either Russian or English.

He didn’t need to as Yulia perfectly understood him. She gripped his hand and gave it a little squeeze. She smiled at him and Yuuri beamed back, feeling elated, his heart a flutter. Yulia was about to say something, lips already forming the words but quickly pulled away when all heads suddenly turned to the sound of hurried dampened footsteps and familiar voices from across the hall. Yulia scuttled away and had Yuuri not caught himself, he would have reached for her as his hand missed the warmth of Yulia’s.

When their respective teachers and the other staff came into view, marching down the hallway with their cups of bitter coffee as they conversed in loud Russian, all the students scrambled from their stretching positions to grab their bags and get in line. Yuuri being twice as jittery than usual after being in Yulia’s presence, stumbled on his very feet in his haste, eliciting a chorus of giggles from the girls. He turned red, pressing his lips together as he righted himself, walking with his head bowed down till he situated himself at the front of the row – as he was the shortest. The boy behind him had placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and asked if he was hurt anywhere. Yuuri shook his head in the negative before bringing his shoulders back, a posture he was reminded time and time again by their instructor to keep at all times and Yuuri didn’t want to get a scolding so soon after he’d already embarrassed himself for the day. So, he faced forward, attentive and trying to decipher what their instructor had planned for them in class today.

Yuuri tried to concentrate, he really did but he was getting all the Russian mixed up. That and Yulia kept sneaking glances at him from behind their instructor’s back and giving him tiny finger waves each time their eyes met. The boy behind him chuckled and poked his side in playful teasing. “I think she likes you,” he commented in a harsh whisper, trying to be discreet. Ilya, their instructor, either took no notice or had enough mercy to not tell them off – their brutal schedule for today was probably enough punishment.

Going ramrod straight at the remark, Yuuri blushed to the roots of his hair. “Nyet,” he denied vehemently under his breath, wishing that class would start already. He’d rather have his feet throb and muscles ache than be in this position. He breathed out an audible sigh of relief when Ilya opened the door to the studio and usher them in. Before he could step across the threshold, however, he was yanked back by the arm to the side and from what he could see through his skewed glasses, Yulia flashed him another Sailor Moon pose, a bright grin on her face. Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh, both hands shooting up to try and muffle it, for his mother had always told him that it was impolite to laugh at a girl directly.

Yulia tapped the badge she had pinned on her shoulder bag. “Spasiba, Yuuri,” she thanked him with a smile, as she had missed the chance to do so before.

As the other boys passed him to get into the studio, Yuuri beamed, shaking his head because he didn’t know how to say ‘you’re welcome’ yet but he gave a small bow of his head instead. With a final wave, Yulia entered her class, arm looped with one of her girlfriends. This time, Yuuri dumbly waved back, his tummy doing summersaults as he stared at her retreating back. He was a little dazed from what just happened. It looked like he made a new friend.

Yuuri received a punch on his shoulder, making him stagger. It didn’t hurt, not the slightest but he still rubbed it with a pained look on his face. The boy – Dimitry, if Yuuri remembered correctly – apologised and slung an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder good-naturedly. “Let’s get to class,” he said, or at least that was what Yuuri assumed he said with his bleak understanding of Russian, for he was led to the barre the next second.

Well, son of a gun, it seemed making new friends wasn’t going to be an issue anymore.

* * *

Yulia was two years his senior, Yuuri found out and was one of the more promising dancers of her year. So much so that she was even able to participate in the academy’s exhibitions. It was from those exhibitions Yuuri saw first-hand why she was named the Queen of Spins. Her fouettés were – lack of a better word – flawless. There had been rumours going around that she would be chosen to be offered the part of Odette/Odile once she entered the company for the annual end of year performance. Yuuri wouldn’t put it past her; she was very invested in her dance and would often stay after hours to work on her technique with Yuuri – though it was more like she was giving Yuuri extra lessons.

“And you’re okay with that?” Yulia asked incredulously as she tied the ribbons of her pointe shoes around her ankle.

“She looked so uncomfortable so I said it’s alright?” Yuuri tried to justify his actions, slipping on his leather shoes.

Yulia gave an exasperated sigh, getting to her feet. “Yuuri, you can’t just let these girls walk all over you like that. Partner work counts for a large part of your grades, you know!”

“It’s not my fault no one wants to work with a yaposhka,” Yuuri sniffed, unaware of just how much weight the term carried when he’d used it so carelessly. He yelped when Yulia yanked him to his feet by his shirt.

“Who called you that? Tell me who, Yuuri!” Yulia gritted out. “How _dare_ they call you a derogatory term like that!”

Raising his hands in front of him defensively, Yuuri bit his lip, slightly ashamed. “No one did,” he admitted quietly and turned his head to the side. “Isn’t that the reason why, though?” he mumbled, the back of his eyes feeling hot. Even after two years of living in Russia, Yuuri was convinced no one wanted anything to do with him because he was a foreigner, especially now since he’s in his sixth year where partnering classes began. Being paired up with him was akin to some kind of terrible punishment for the girls and they always looked so uncomfortable whenever they danced with him.

The tight grip on his chin almost hurt, Yulia’s fingers digging into his cheeks. “That word, I will kick anyone’s ass if they use it, including yours so never call yourself that again, got it?” she threatened, face twisted into a cruel scowl with eyes so sharp that Yuuri had to force himself to nod to give her an answer, not wanting to be on the receiving end of her wrath. Satisfied, she let go of him, letting him drop like a sack of potatoes with an “oof”. “The girls were probably just nervous, everyone is during the first time partnering, well maybe except myself that is,” she paused to do an imaginary hair flip – imaginary because her hair was almost always in a bun.

Still feeling a little defeated, Yuuri made no attempt to sit back up and instead flexed and pointed his feet for extra warmups. “I don’t know, Yulia,” he sighed dejectedly. “Pretty sure I heard them say yaponisky and they would crowd together and gossip about me once the instructors announce who gets paired with whom.” While his Russian may not be fluent yet – Yulia and his classmates were trying their best in tutoring him, really – other students outside his class often forgot that he could understand some of the words they said.

Toeing him with her satin pointe shoe, Yulia poked him in the ribs. “What you say might be true,” she drawled, mulling over his problem and Yuuri groaned, rolling to his side. He knew it! “But not in the way you might think,” she continued and moved to help pull him up.

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asked, dark eyebrows pinched but Yulia waved him off.

“Doesn’t matter because once I’m through with you, all those girls would be fighting tooth and nail for a chance to be your dance partner,” she promised with a wink.

“Eh? I don’t understand what you’re on about!” he managed, fear curling at the pit of his stomach because of that certain glint in her eye whenever she had a scheme up her sleeve.

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry about that, all you have to do is dance. I’ll be your temporary partner for now so you’ll be ready for your next class,” she asserted and adamantly moved Yuuri into position behind her, holding one of this hands and placing the other on her waist.

“Y-Yulia!” he stammered, still embarrassed at such close physical contact without prior warning.

“Get your head in the game, Katsuki,” she directed, calling him by his family name whenever she got serious and ballet was definitely no joking matter to her. Yuuri straightened and took position. “Brace yourself because you’re going to be holding a whole lot more than just hands,” she warned with a devilish smirk, making Yuuri pale.

“C-can we not jump straight to lifts? I don’t think I’m ready yet,” he beseeched.

“Oh, suck it up. We’ve got to strengthen those dainty calves of yours,” Yulia chortled before turning serious again and lifted herself to the very tips of her toes. “Okay, one, two, three, four,” she set the tempo of their dance and the two of them began a story of two souls drawn together.

Yuuri had danced with Yulia before but they’d done them individually. To have her as his dance partner was a whole other experience. As his senior and with her experience with being pretty much already part of the ballet corps, her technique was much more refined and precise, it really was much different from girls that were either too wriggly or too stiff in his hold. Yulia trusted him and instead of shrieking in fright that Yuuri might drop him, she would instruct him on how to correct his stance or concentrate on which muscle to focus on instead.

Whatever magic Yulia had cast, it had worked. For the next couple of weeks, in addition to the girls being no longer scared or disappointed to be paired up with him, some had even approached him to partner up during their individual practice time.

“They’ve never been scared of you,” Phichit insisted, poking him in the ribs during their cooldown when the girls had left, making him grunt. “You’re too dense to see they were just shy to be paired up with someone all foreign and cool.”

“Ha?!” was his incredulous response. What part of him was _cool_? Phichit’s the one that’s all exotic from being the son of Thailand’s ambassador and yet effortlessly blending in with all the others like he was some kind of pure born Russian. “You’re the one that’s practically the Prince of Thailand,” he sulked, practically spitting out the title the student body had given him.

“Mmm, that’s true,” Phichit agreed without even batting an eyelash. “Doesn’t mean you should sell yourself so short, though.”

“I’m going to ignore you,” Yuuri decided, turning his attention back to his feet.

“Yuuri’s so mean,” his Thai friend complained, slumping himself all over Yuuri’s back and pushing him further into his stretch. “You should make it up to me by letting me film you again,” he said, cocking an eyebrow suggestively.

Abruptly sitting up, Phichit was left to topple to the floor. “No! No more appearances on social media after that last stunt, Phichit,” Yuuri objected firmly, wagging his finger at him.

“ _Why_?” Phichit sounded so scandalised. “You two looked amazing in the video! Even the teachers were impressed!”

Yuuri buried his face in his hands. “Please stop,” he begged, embarrassed.

“I will, if you take a picture with me,” Phichit bargained, already taking out his notorious phone from his bag and sliding it open.

Blowing his fringe out of his eyes, Yuuri conceded. What harm could a picture do? Before he knew it, he’s cheek to cheek with Phichit while his friend took a whole slew of snaps akin to a wildlife photographer and Yuuri found himself smiling awkwardly at the front facing camera. Then he remembered something. “Wait, you’re not going to put this up on the internet, are you?” he asked slowly, the gears in his head turning. At the full-blown smile Phichit gave him, Yuuri launched himself at his friend. “Phichit!”

“I made no such promises!” cackled Phichit as Yuuri fought to grab his phone, typing furiously before picking a photo out of the dozens he’d taken that he had deemed worthy and clicked the publish button. “Too late!” he feigned hopelessness, only shrugging his shoulders when Yuuri finally wrenched it from his hands.

“Phichit!” Yuuri wailed, slumping defeatedly while the Thai merely hugged him and pinched his cheek. “I’ll get you for this!” Yuuri pushed Phichit down and mercilessly decided to tickle him but Phichit fought back, knowing all his ticklish spots. Their laughter rang in the studio till they lay weak and eagle spread on the floor trying to catch their breaths.

There’s this Japanese word that Yuuri kept thinking of, 青春, read as seishun. The word itself literally translates to blue spring and is used to depict the springtime of life or the best time in one’s adolescent life because of the imagery of clear skies. Yuuri found it to be the perfect description for the current life he’s living in Russia because things were looking up since his first weeks starting at the academy. During the new year, he’d written the kanji with the calligraphy pen Mari had sent him and stuck the paper over his desk as words for inspiration. Unfortunately for Yuuri, skies don’t remain blue forever.

* * *

“I’m pregnant,” was her hallowed whisper, voice wrecked from so many hours of crying. “I’m pregnant, Yuuri,” she repeated, as if her words hadn’t been heard the first time. Her hands that held Yuuri’s for dear life tightened, knuckles turning white as if afraid that Yuuri would up and leave her. No, Yuuri wouldn’t do that. Her watery green eyes searched Yuuri’s cinnamon hued ones for some sort of recognition, some sort of response, anything.

Yuuri released the breath he didn’t know he was holding and stepped back, gently tugging at his hands. Yulia’s wail was heart shattering as she latched herself to him and Yuuri then realised to his horror the terrible mistake he had made and his mouth started spewing apologies uncontrollably. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he exclaimed in a flurry of Russian, English and Japanese as the both of them crumbled to the floor, Yulia dragging him down with her.

Yuuri cradled her close as she sobbed helplessly into his chest, hands caressing her hair and back in a soothing manner. He gave her words of comfort in Japanese, muttering them softly to the crown of her head for he couldn’t find the Russian equivalent, nor could his brain process any in this calamitous state. He allowed her to cry it all out and get it out of her system, waiting for her to recover in her own time, rocking her back and forth in his arms.

It was only when her sobs turned to quiet sniffles and her body stopped shaking that Yuuri addressed the matter at hand. “Yulia,” he called out softly, arms still wrapped protectively around her, providing her with a safe space in such a delicate time. “I know this is a serious matter that we should discuss and one we would be talking for a while. Wouldn’t it be better if we moved somewhere more comfortable while we do? The couch is just a few steps away, we shouldn’t be on the cold floor, it’s not good for you,” he tried to persuade her.

 _And the baby_ , he added silently in his mind but knew it would not be wise to bring it up just yet. Yuuri wanted Yulia to take the first step, clearly, it had already taken a lot from her just from telling him she was pregnant. He knew he had to be cautious in approaching the subject, Yulia was in a fragile state right now. “Please?” he asked, running his hands across her arms repeatedly to encourage her to pull back on her own.

With a loud sniffle, Yulia raised her head to look up at Yuuri, sea green eyes still leaking with droplets clinging to her blonde lashes. Yuuri captured a lone tear as it threatened to fall, a small tilt to the corners of his lips as he looked at her with fondness and assurance. “I’m pregnant,” she iterated breathily, voice small, but this time it wasn’t to convey it to Yuuri but rather acceptance on her side. Her lower lip trembled as if about to cry again and Yuuri decided it was time to intervene.

Taking hold of her hands, he pulled the both of them to their feet, leading her to the aforementioned couch before she could latch herself to him again and restrict his movements. Prompting her to sit down, he wrapped the shiny pink velvet blanket that was draped on the armrest around her carefully, making sure that she still had contact with him by holding onto her hand with a secure grip. When he finally sat down, Yulia clamoured to sit on his lap, to which Yuuri stiffened and held her at arm’s length to keep her in place because should she really be perched on his thighs at a time like this?

“I won’t leave, I promise,” he assured her but Yulia’s face scrunched up in protest, wanting some sort of physical contact with Yuuri as insurance. Instead, he readjusted both their positions on the couch, resting against the arm of it so Yulia may lean against him and he in turn encased her with his arms and legs. Hopefully, his limbs provided the safe cocoon Yulia needed.

It did because she sighed in contentment, letting her eyes close for a moment. “So, what now?” she questioned, peering over at him like a confused child that needed guidance. She placed her hands over his, slotting her fingers in the spaces in between his own.

Exhaling, Yuuri didn’t expect Yulia to ask his opinion on the matter because, in the end, it wasn’t really his place to say anything. He scooted down a bit in trying to get into a more comfortable as he mulled over it, absentmindedly brushing his fingers in a soothing manner over where his hands were resting on her growing stomach. It was only when he caught himself that he realised that he was cupping the firmness of it and it dawned on him that a life was growing there. He swallowed and curled his fingers in to stop himself. “How do you feel?” he asked finally. “Are you… comfortable with it?” It was almost a silly thing to ask after her breakdown just a moment ago, but he felt that he needed to know how she felt about it.

“You mean aside from the morning sickness and the fact that I can potentially kiss my ballet career goodbye?” Yulia bit out. Wincing at her harsh tone, Yuuri instinctively tried to pull away but Yulia wouldn’t let him, clutching his fingers so tightly that they started to hurt. “You said you wouldn’t leave,” she reminded him, lower lip jutting out in a pout.

She was right. Now was not the time to curl in on himself and hide; Yulia’s feelings took precedence. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, slightly ashamed of his momentary selfishness. “How far along are you?” he asked instead, trying to steer the conversation into much safer waters. The tips of his fingers skirted along the tiny bump without his permission again but he was fascinated with the little life inside of her.

“They said 11 weeks,” she mumbled, scooting further down the couch in an attempt to make herself seem small, repositioning their connected hands so that Yuuri’s arms were wrapped securely around her middle.

Biting his lower lip as he did the arithmetic in his head, Yuuri tried to pinpoint the week when she might have conceived. When he did, his caresses stopped. “Oh, so around the time of the party…” he trailed off, ears turning red and he shifted uncomfortably, the pleather of the couch creaking as he did. Yulia nodded in response, shying away from him. Yuuri tried to make light of it, giving a short laugh. “Every time I look back, I just remember there being a lot of dancing with the rest of the ballet corps and waking up in bed,” he confessed.

His laugh had been infectious because Yulia joined in. “You really can’t handle your alcohol well,” she teased.

“I wasn’t even _supposed_ to have alcohol!” Yuuri protested. “You and the corps slipped it to me saying it was a Russian drink that I should try!”

“To be fair, it _was_ Russian,” she pointed out but then broke into laughter as she remembered something from that night. “When you found out you’ve been consuming alcohol you almost cried because you thought you were going to get arrested!” she cackled, reaching up to wipe a tear that escaped her eye.

Pouting, Yuuri whined, “Yulia, I was really scared you know! In Japan, you’d have to be 20 to drink.”

Yulia rolled her eyes. “Oh please, you’re in Russia,” she reminded him.

Yuuri rebutted back with more facts. “Whose legal drinking age is 18, which I am not either,” he tutted. “I could have gotten into serious trouble if anyone found out.”

“Russia’s laws are not as stuffy as Japan’s, you have nothing to worry about. We didn’t even give you the hard stuff, it was just a splash here and there. Teenagers as young as fourteen have been known to drink something stronger,” Yulia snorted but then her tone dropped and she looked at him with half-lidded eyes. “Besides, it was an enjoyable night, wasn’t it? Got you to loosen up,” she said with a knowing curl of a smirk on her lips.

Flustered, Yuuri couldn’t do much but stutter not knowing his left from his right at this point. “I-I umm… It’s not that I regretted it or a-anything… I just… W-well it wasn’t _terrible_ ,” he ended up saying, cheeks growing unbearably hot as bits of that night filled his mind.

Humming, Yulia ran her socked foot on Yuuri’s ankle. “I should get you buzzed more often and let you show me just what’s under that adorable façade of yours again,” she purred, batting her long eyelashes at him before giving him a playful wink.

“Yulia, please,” Yuuri groaned, pleading with her to stop teasing him and if Yulia hadn’t had a hold of his hands, he’d bury his face in them to hide. Instead, he stared right up at the same ceiling he’d woken up to the morning after, the embarrassment he’d had to deal with afterwards nearly killed him but Yulia insisted that everything was fine.

It was alright for some time and he’d banished thoughts of that night into the deeper creases of his mind never to be brought up again until Yulia presented him with this shocking news, that is. Yulia, still with a flutter of laughter in her turned in Yuuri’s embrace so she rested on her side and walked her fingers up and down Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri’s eyes were transfixed on the moving digits while she hummed a song he recognised. They stayed like that until the song finished and Yulia heaved a heavy sigh.

“I still want to dance,” she clarified. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do ever since I saw my first ballet. I just want to dance and I never want to stop. Never, ever, ever!” she wept into Yuuri’s shirt, clutching it tightly.

Swallowing had become difficult for Yuuri for he knew what those words implicated. “You don’t have to stop,” he supplied, his tongue felt so heavy like lead as he spoke. “You can keep dancing, Yulia. No one’s going to stop you.”

“I made a mistake, Yuuri.”

They were just words but to Yuuri, it felt like he was being stabbed and he tried to even out his breathing and to not hyperventilate.

“I was so certain I was in the clear with my cycle and neither of us carried a packet…”

He was drowning.

He must be because the rest of Yulia’s words sounded distantly subdued like he had held his head underwater. His first reaction was to recoil, it had hurt to hear such words come from Yulia’s lips but he’d silently resigned, running his free hand across her shoulders as she poured and poured over the _mistake_ that was that night. Yuuri listened. Yuuri always listened. He couldn’t register them clearly but the words were there. Robotically, he soothed her, giving hums of acknowledgement where he was supposed to, urging for her to go on as he stared lifelessly ahead.

The press of the swell of her belly against him made him close his eyes to momentarily relish the warmth of life present there, trying to ignore Yulia’s incoherent blubbering that had ventured towards consuming old wives’ tales of foods that were forbidden during pregnancy. Yuuri’s lashes were wet with tears that ran in streaks down his cheeks but he refused to whimper out a cry, biting his lip instead to keep quiet. He silently stroked the bump, smoothing his palm over it delicately, wondering if this would be the last time he’d get to spend time with the unborn child.

If it were up to Yuuri, he would tell Yulia no, to go ahead and keep the child and give them a fighting chance at life, that no child was a mistake. He wanted to treasure the precious life inside her, to see the child grow and to hold them in his arms but sadly it was not his call to make. He was not the one carrying and could not even begin to imagine what it would be like to bear life within oneself. He would not sway her with his feelings or ideals because he respected Yulia’s body and her decisions of what to make with it and the little one so instead, he just did what he could to make them feel loved while he had the chance.

“I want to keep it.”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped open and it was like he’d been yanked from the water, a bubble popping in his ears and now everything rang so clear. “You do?” he breathed out. “Yulia, is that really what you want?” he asked, willing for a confirmation and grabbed hold of her shoulder.

A nod was Yulia’s answer and she nosed at the crook of Yuuri’s neck. “I don’t… I don’t regret it, Yuuri but…” she trailed off to compose himself. “I’m so scared, Yuuri. Would I be able to go through with it? Am I strong enough?” she blinked wetly at him, suddenly looking like she was fifteen again.

“Of course!” Yuuri responded immediately, voice breaking. “Of course, you can, Yulia,” he assured her, wiping a stray tear.

She grabbed his hand. “I don’t want to go through it alone.”

There was a silent question being posed there whether Yulia intended it or not and Yuuri took a moment to let it sink in. Yuuri could either pretend it never happened or he could take her up on it. “You don’t have to,” he offered her a wet smile, tucking a lock of hair that fell over her eyes behind her ear. Her eyes widened in understanding the weight of his words. “I’ll take responsibility.”

“Yuuri…”

She sounded unsure, like the time Yuuri offered her the Sailor Moon button that she now carried everywhere. Yuuri understood that Yulia didn’t want to pressure him into it, to tie him down but it doesn’t count as coercing if he himself wanted it, does it? How could he not? How could he turn away this _gift_ Yulia had given him? Yuuri was young, younger than Yulia but if he could be a part of this child’s life in any way, then by heavens, he was going to take that chance. “If you’ll have me?” he raised, almost sheepishly.

Yulia threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oh, Yuuri!” she cried, in happiness this time as she knocked the wind out of Yuuri’s lungs.

Yuuri stayed over at Yulia’s apartment that evening, they’d spent the rest of their afternoon in each other’s arms underneath the blanket, mostly talking about how their lives would change now that they were going to be parents. There was a weight taken off Yuuri’s shoulders after the turn of events, Yulia was smiling once more, happy even. Yuuri himself felt almost drunk with the number of happy chemicals coursing through his veins as he held Yulia and their baby.

“You know, there was this famous American ballerina that made news with her doing ballet even while nine months pregnant,” Yulia chatted on animatedly with her hands. “Maybe I could be the first Russian?” she wondered out loud.

“Mhmm…” Yuuri concurred in a murmur, only half listening. He was too preoccupied communicating with his unborn child through the traces he made with his finger.

Yulia looked down at the small gesture and scooted up. “You’ll be such a wonderful father, Yuuri,” Yulia stated, squashing their cheeks together.

“I’ll try,” he gasped out from the tight hold and gathered the young woman in her arms. The word ‘father’ sunk in and normally he would cower at wielding such a terrifying role, even in class but oddly enough Yuuri didn’t seem at all scared of it. It felt right and he was going to work hard at it. He knew he should start making plans but it could wait till tomorrow. It would start of course with telling his family back in Hasetsu.

They had been unsurprisingly shocked at the news but remained supportive, congratulating him even, letting him know that they were a phone call away if he ever needed anything (aka money). Yuuri promised them that he would try his best to not rely too much on what they were wiring in as they had already been funding his tuition at the academy. It would only be a little while longer till he graduated and his spot for working under the company was already more than secure so everything should work out. Yuuri was grateful for his family and the long phone call left him with the courage to do just about anything.

Well, except perhaps breaking the news to Yulia’s father.

Nikolai Plisetsky had him shaking like a leaf.

* * *

Yuuri was in the middle of rehearsals when the call came. The ringing sounded shrill in the studio as heads whipped to the direction of Yuuri’s bag nestled in one corner. Normally, cell phones wouldn’t even be let anywhere near the dance floor and would be instead be stashed in their lockers. Even if they were snuck inside, they would at least be put on silent so the chime and buzzing that came from Yuuri’s phone were somewhat an unusual occurrence to the occupants. Yuuri had his hand on his chest, heart racing a million miles a minute. This was it. He’d been anticipating this call for more than a month now and it was finally happening. Scampering towards his bag, he pulled the old flip phone out with shaky hands as the flashing name on the caller ID made it even more real that this was happening.

He muted the phone, letting it buzz and gave his apologies to Ivan, their current choreographer and also to the rest of the group, bowing deeply for the interruption but Ivan merely waved him off as Yuuri had explained the situation a couple of weeks beforehand and the rest of them professionally returned back to their previous positions. Gathering his things hurriedly, he opted to skip his usual cool down stretches for obvious reasons and practically ran to the exit, still in his leather dance shoes and hastily pulled a jumper over his head. He only managed to trip once before reaching the door, which in itself was a miracle considering just how flustered he was. Skidding into the reception area where the lockers were located near the entrance, the receptionist gave Yuuri a knowing smile.

“Today’s the day, huh?” she asked, cradling her chin as she watched Yuuri pull his shoes on, not even bothering to take his slippers off or put his socks on, just shoving his feet into them and throwing the wadded balls of footwear into his bag. “Keep calm, there is no hurry. You probably won’t be able to get in the labour room anyway depending on the situation.”

She had good intentions in trying to calm Yuuri down but her statement only made Yuuri squawk in panic and turn back at the buzzing phone in his hand, Nikolai’s name flashing angrily. Flipping the phone open, he barely managed to press it to his ear when Nikolai was shouting at him from the other side of the line, demanding an explanation as to why it took him so long to pick up. Yuuri couldn’t even splutter any apologies before he was cut off by the fuming man.

 _“Where are you_?” Nikolai hissed. “Get yourself to the hospital, _now_!” was the gruff command and Yuuri nodded obediently until he realised that Nikolai could not see him.

“Yes, I’m on my way,” Yuuri assured him as he slid his arms into his jacket and tried his best in trying to tie his shoes as he balanced the phone between his shoulder and his ear. “H-how is she?” he couldn’t help but ask, his frantic movements stilling as he waited for the answer.

A moment passed and all Yuuri could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat gradually getting louder before Nikolai’s sigh broke through. “She’s in pain from the contractions and wants you to be beside her, so get moving!” he barked, masking the unsaid ‘please’ at the end of the order. It must be nerve wracking to see your daughter in pain and not being able to do anything about it but Yuuri knew Nikolai was trying to make Yulia as comfortable as possible.

“I’ll be there, Nikolai, don’t worry,” he promised and bolted out the door, the friendly receptionist left waving in his wake.

Yuuri was a panting mess when he’d arrived, hair and clothes dishevelled from all the running he had done when he wasn’t using public transport. The nurses had probably seen numerous expecting fathers by now that Yuuri’s behaviour was expected and calmly gave Yuuri directions on where to go. Yuuri was so overwhelmed at what he saw next that he backed himself to a wall. There were more than a dozen women in the room that were in labour, lying on their own cots separated only by green curtains for some privacy. There was a scream of pain and Yuuri in a flash of panic ran towards the source, reminded of Nikolai’s words about Yulia being in pain but he was stopped when someone grabbed his arm.

“Yuuri?”

“Yulia!” he exclaimed, taken aback by her presence. Apart from looking like she’d come out of training with the sheen of sweat on her, she looked fine? She was standing – Holy heavens, she was _standing_! “Y-Yulia, you shouldn’t be on your feet!” he yelped, his voice a high-pitched squeak, taking hold of both her shoulders.

Her blonde brows knitted, generally confused at his reaction. “What is all the fuss about? I needed to pee.” Her laughter was a twinkle of chimes as she pulled a stunned Yuuri in the direction of her cot where Nikolai sat on a chair.

“Over here, boy,” he beckoned Yuuri over. “What took you so long?”

“Papa, behave,” Yulia warned her father with a disapproving frown before turning back to Yuuri. “Did rehearsals end early today?” she asked sweetly, not at all the vision of being in excruciating pain Nikolai had painted for him.

Looking over at Nikolai, the man glowered at Yuuri to dare him to rat him out. “Umm…” he began, trying to form the words under pressure but he had always been such an awful liar. “I-I heard you asked for me?” he said unsurely as he assisted her to sit back on the cot.

Yulia huffed. “Papa, what nonsense did you say to Yuuri?”

Nikolai’s face turned a blotchy red at the accusation and Yuuri knew he’d have to step in. “Yulia, you’re in labour and Nikolai just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything,” he interjected, patting her arm and was relieved to see Nikolai simmering down when he snuck a glance at him. “Are you comfortable? You really shouldn’t be walking around if your contractions are a few minutes apart or at least you should be in a wheelchair to get around –”

He was shushed by Yulia before he could recite everything he had read from the pamphlet he’d been given by the gynaecologist during one of Yulia’s check-ups. “Papa, you _did_ tell Yuuri something unnecessary,” she puffed her cheeks out in a pout. “He’s getting all worked up for nothing. My water broke, big deal. Also, contractions are expected for the next 12 to 24 hours, I’m fine!” she insisted, crossing her arms petulantly.

Recognising that stubbornness anywhere and considering how they were in a room surrounded by women approaching their delivery time, one could not help but doubt the whole sincerity of Yulia’s words. “Yulia,” Yuuri tried to coax her but was interrupted by Nikolai.

“What does it matter what I said, it got him here didn’t it?” he groused, mirroring her posture; Yulia truly was her father’s daughter.

“ _Thank you_ , Nikolai,” Yuuri butted in before things got heated between the two of them. “I really appreciate you calling, I wouldn’t want to miss anything. Besides, Ivan has been notified and I’ll be sure to take extra hours as a replacement,” he promised Yulia, circling his thumb on the back of her hand.

A defeated sigh left Yulia’s lips and her once tense shoulders sagged, falling back against the propped-up mattress. “Okay, okay,” she acquiesced, giving Yuuri a tired smile and squeezed his hand. Then she turned to Nikolai. “Thank you, papa, for getting Yuuri to come.”

The man scratched his beard. “Your happiness is everything, Yulen’ka,” he said with a nod and gestured at Yuuri with his thumb. “He is the father after all.” Yuuri knew that while Nikolai might be a traditional man, that didn’t stop him from granting Yulia’s wish to have Yuuri be present during the birth – a rather new concept for someone his age in Russia.

Finally taking her guard down, Yulia relaxed into the cot as she looked at the both of them. “I am so happy that the two most important men in my life are here,” she admitted, eyes turning glassy from withheld tears. “The third will join us soon,” she hummed thoughtfully, her hand rubbing across her belly.

“You didn’t even ask the gender of the baby during your check up, how are you so sure it’s a boy?”

“I just feel it, papa. He’s going to be a beautiful baby boy.” Yulia went to grab Yuuri’s hand again. “He’s been good so far. He probably takes after you.”

Giving a nervous laugh, Yuuri squeezed her hand. “Have you decided on a good name yet?” Apart from accompanying Yulia through her pregnancy and saving up a lot for the baby’s arrival, Yuuri wasn’t that much involved in any big decision making. He may be the father but Yuuri felt that Yulia should have the most say with her baby.

With a nod, Yulia replied, “I have.”

Nikolai suddenly leant in to shush the both of them. “Don’t say it out loud!” he warned as it was an old Russian superstition that it was not wise to utter the baby’s name until they were born least they want a visit from the devil.

Yulia laughed. “How old fashioned, papa,” she teased. “I have the perfect name and I guess we have to wait till the little guy decides to come out. Like I said, he’s been very well behaved so far –!” her voice hitched all of the sudden and all the blood on Yuuri’s hand had been squeezed out.

“Are you okay?!”

“Yulen’ka!”

Through a hiss, she managed to reply, “I’m fine. J-just the contractions.” Her breathing changed and Yuuri was half afraid his hand would fall off from the pressure.

“Yulia...?” he called out worriedly as sweat started beading between her brows.

There was a cry of pain and both Yuuri and Nikolai were panicking. “I-I think the baby’s coming!” she gasped out as nurses rushed in to take her away to the delivery room. Yuuri who had frozen in fear was ushered along, a pair of scrubs pushed to his chest.

The delivery was quick and without any complications; Yuuri by Yulia’s side the whole time trying to ease her through it. Somehow, he’d lost the ability to speak Russian, cooing to her in soft Japanese, praising her as she pushed the life that was growing inside of her out into the world. When Yuuri heard the wail from the newborn – his son – everything seemed to stop. He was bloody as they pressed him to Yulia’s breast for the first skin to skin contact. Yuuri could only stare at the wiggling baby as he cried. He was taken to be cleaned and checked before Yuuri could even reach out and touch him. It was only until he was wrapped snugly in a soft blanket that Yuuri could fully take him in.

He had light blond hair, just like Yulia, skin red and blotchy that over time would reveal smooth pale skin and while his eyes were closed, Yuuri was positive that they would be a beautiful sea green. Yuuri gave a soft content sigh as he stroked the chubby cheek tentatively with his finger. The baby looked nothing like Yuuri and he was breathtakingly beautiful. The newborn had cried himself to sleep by the time they were escorted to Yulia’s own room where Nikolai waited for them. In his sleep, the little one turned his face towards Yuuri’s finger trying to suckle on it. Yuuri chided him gently, laughing at the adorable act.

“Yuuri? Would you like to hold him?” Her hair was in disarray, looking absolutely exhausted after the birth but her smile aimed towards him was bright and kind as always.

Blushing because he had almost forgotten about the other two; too enraptured by the little infant that was sleeping so soundly, Yuuri nodded and Yulia carefully passed the sleeping baby to him. Yuuri was mindful of the baby’s head and neck and carefully cradled him in his arms just like how he’d practised. His breath caught because the child in his arms was no longer just a heartbeat, a soft kick nor just an image on the screen of a sonogram, he was real and healthy and _here_. Yuuri could feel a tightening in his chest.

“What have you decided to call the boy?” Nikolai inquired. The question made Yuuri tear his eyes from the sleeping boy and look at Yulia. Her answer almost pushed him to tears.

“Yuri.”

Nodding, Nikolai hummed in approval. “A strong and fitting name for a Plisetsky.”

A Plisetsky.

It was part of the agreement that they had made upon presenting Yulia’s pregnancy to Nikolai. Yuuri would legally be Yuri’s father but Yuri was to remain in the Plisetsky family registry. Yuuri held nothing against Nikolai for suggesting it – he was after all still a foreigner in his and Russia’s eyes – and he readily complied.

“Named after a man I know with great courage and a big heart,” Yulia murmured as her eyes closed to rest. “In hopes that the baby would inherit his qualities.”

It mattered not what the name of his son would be carrying, as long as he got to be a part of his life, that was all that mattered. He pressed a tender kiss to Yuri’s forehead. Yuuri had been positive this was what it felt like. Love… Yuuri was in love with Yuri before he was even born.

Little Yuri shifted at the contact, letting out a barely audible grumble and Yuuri apologised, rocking him delicately in an attempt to coax him back to his little nap but blond eyelashes fluttered before eyes opened to look up at Yuuri. The soft gurgle was what snapped the already taut string that was holding Yuuri together and he wept at how fortunate he was to be blessed with a son like Yuri. He nuzzled the fine hairs on top of Yuri’s head, still sobbing uncontrollably at the little life he was allowed to have.

“Hi, Yuri…” he greeted, finally finding his voice and kissed every feature of his son’s face while Yuri grunted in protest trying to get away from the onslaught.

* * *

Growing up, it always boggled people whenever Yuuri would be introduced as Yuri’s father. For one, they looked nothing alike as Yuri got most of his genes from his mother. Whenever people mistook him as Yuri’s ballet teacher or a family friend, Yuuri never bothered to correct it. Mostly because it was turning into a hassle to explain and Yuuri was not very comfortable about people knowing about his personal affairs and also partly because it was funny to see their faces when the truth had been revealed.

Like now.

Yuuri had to stifle a laugh at the look of bewilderment that ran across the handsome Russian skater’s face. He hid his smile as he pressed a kiss to Yuri’s hair, composing himself before he greeted the man with a small wave. He wasn’t met with a wave in return but the man continued to stare dumbly at them for a few seconds longer. He shook off the shock eventually and skated over the two of them and Yuuri felt the urge to flatten out his unkempt hair and make himself look more presentable. Instead, he just fidgeted in place until the man skidded to a halt.

Shit, the man was much more gorgeous up close.

“Hi~” The man winked, his rich voice had a hint of playfulness in it and he topped it off with a dramatic bow. Part of his performance, perhaps? “Welcome to St. Petersburg! I hope the journey from Moscow had been comfortable. I’m so happy young Yuri is finally able to join us,” he talked excitedly, blue eyes sparkling.

Yuri turned around in Yuuri’s arms at the sound of his name while Yuuri blinked confusedly at the man. He wasn’t… what he expected. Catching himself, he quickly recovered. “Thank you, the journey had been comfortable to the courtesy of Mr. Feltsman,” he said, nodding at Yakov who was still muttering something under his breath. “Oh, how rude of me, I’m Yuri’s father –”

“Katsuki Yuuri, I know!” the man interjected happily, clapping his hands together and Yuuri was once again stunned because not only did he get his name right, down to the correct pronunciation of Yuuri but he had called him by the way if he were to introduce himself in Japanese; the family name forgoing his given one. It was definitely a first in all his years living in Russia. “My name’s –”

“Viktor Nikiforov.” It was Yuri that spoke up and he shrugged himself off from Yuuri’s hold. “You’re Viktor Nikiforov and one day I’m going to kick your ass!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (edit) IMPORTANT NOTE (thank you missemily!)  
> Everything was consensual that night. Yuri was buzzed when they slipped him alcohol and his inhibitions were lowered enough for him to tear up the dance floor but not enough to knock him out completely where he couldn't give his consent. CONSENT IS IMPORTANT! This chapter was written to focus on Yuuri's journey growing up and how sometimes in life you make really dumb decisions. The "mistake" Yulia was referring to was not using protection during sex, not that she regretted having sex itself and Yuuri cried because he didn't want Yulia to abort. However, everything worked out in the end and the two of them were blessed with a healthy baby Yuri.
> 
> *does the Yuuri nervous shoulder shimmy* So.... what did you think? I know it was a lot. It really took out a lot from me to write this and honestly it was supposed to be in celebration of Yuri's birthday but I am waaaaay off the mark fml. Writing Yuuri was very different, I tried my best to present him accurately but at the same time give the right reasons for his actions. Also, I feel from his narrative, you really get just one side of the story like he was never really isolated but from his POV, he saw it as being that way, you know?
> 
> Yulia is ofc named after the real inspiration of Yuri; Yulia Lipnitskaya and yes she is known for her spins on the ice and thus being the Queen of Spins, I just translated it into ballet lol Did you guys catch all the anime references? She loves cats just like Yuri. I think he takes after her a lot. Let me know if you like her! She may or may not appear in future chapters, we'll see. Please be patient, I know her interactions with Yuuri might have been uncomfortable to sit through for some of you but guys, I swear she won't come in between Viktuuri. Cross my heart!
> 
> Yuuri's instructor Ilya is also based on a real person; Ilya Kusnetsov, an instructor of the Bolshoi Academy for the boys' division. I've used his videos for numerous references for this fic from the choreography, to the lessons and even the layout of the academy itself. That being said, the school Yuuri's attending may or may not be the Moscow State Academy of Choreography, it isn't my place to say but you are certainly welcomed view it that way *wink wink* Kudos to Ilya and I think it's appropriate to have him in my fic, his work really helped me a lot in my research.
> 
> Phichit is in the house! There was a lot of debate on whether or not to put Phichit here or have him in the later future but I really didn't want to disrupt the Yuuri-Phichit dynamic and when I saw that the Thai embassy was based in Moscow irl, that ultimately sealed the deal. Besides, in this AU, it's mostly Yuri that's going to do the skating so his competitors won't be the same ones in canon so yes, Phichit also studies at the academy! I did go back and forth about his placement if he were to be in the same class or as a junior because of in canon age difference but decided against it and very nearly replaced all Yuuri's interactions with the other Russian boys with just Phichit but I wanted to make it a point that Yuuri was never in a position to be excluded by his classmates. So let's just say Phichit came in the year after Yuuri had enrolled.
> 
> If you hadn't notice, the rating went up in this chapter to T for more serious topics but I hope that doesn't really change much of the viewers? Abortion is... People have their own views on this matter and I was rather nervous about bringing this topic up. Women have the right to do whatever they want to do with their bodies. While Yuuri's opinion regarding abortion was evident, he was respectful about it so please take that into consideration if comments about this are going to be sent my way. Also, please, you're free do do what you want and I am in no position to tell you what to do but safe sex guys and drink responsibly. Never feel pressured to drink because other people do it and giving someone alcohol without their consent is wrong. Don't.
> 
> Read loads of Russian tradition and culture for this and I apologise if I got any Russian wrong, native or fluent speakers are free to correct me. I can vouch for the accuracy of the Japanese tho but I don't mind a second opinion on it. Uhhh... also screw genetics? haha Mild swearing here too. I'm worried I forgot something but if you have any questions, feel free to leave it in a comment!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and if you made it through all of the notes, congrats! Please know that you're free to drop me a PM or in the comments section questions about the fic, it makes me happy if people are curious about it. The continuous support that I get really helps me get through everything and I really am proud of this fic...
> 
> Leave a kudos, comment and share! Until next time guys!
> 
> PS: Just so you know, Yuuri cried because he swore in front of Yuri, even though it was in his head haha


	3. Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws 13.5k chapter at you*
> 
> So it's going to be like this now, is it? A larger word count as each chapter updates? hahaha Anyway, sorry for the wait. Life got in the way and while the length of last chapter was supposed to be a one time thing, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I worked on it between hell week at Uni. I probs won't update again till next month bc May is hell month so maybe that's why I unconsciously wrote 13.5k to maybe appease you. Now, are you ready for some domestic fluff? :D
> 
> ***Also, I would like to address this again bc it might not have been clear in the last chapter but while it was wrong for the adults to slip Yuuri alcohol, he was not drunk enough lose his inhibitions entirely. He tore up the dance floor and made dumb decisions that night, yes. The last chapter was to highlight Yuuri's suddenly being thrust into adulthood and take responsibilities. While Yuri was conceived under such circumstances, Yulia only regretted that she took protection lightly and please know that what took place between them had been with consent. The two of them dealt with what they thought was right and were blessed with a healthy son whom they love dearly. I remind you all to always drink responsibly, have safe sex and that consent is always important!***
> 
> Please scroll down for domestic fluff.

* * *

Viktor could feel his smile slipping off him slowly, the rink going still from the bombshell of a declaration from the little boy in front of him. Yuri’s eyes were fixed pointedly at him, a fire in them that Viktor had seen whenever he shook hands with his competitors on the ice. Gloved hands were perched on either side of his hips, his posture meaning business. This was the same boy that was on the ice just a few minutes ago, right? The same _sweet_ child that had pulled his dedushka onto the rink to join him and the same boy that wept in happiness into his father’s shirt after executing such a soft and exquisite routine? Where did that boy go and why was Viktor on the receiving end of a glare? He was puzzled. Had Viktor done something to offend him? Oh, that’s right! That stupid move he’d made…

Nice going, Nikiforov.

Turning to Yuuri, he was about to apologise but instead he watched in slow motion as fear seeped into those cinnamon hued eyes. “Oh my god! Mr. Nikiforov, I’m so sorry!” Yuuri cried out, placing his hands on Yuri’s shoulders and pulling him back. He then proceeded to reprimand his son in speedy Japanese and Viktor was practically vibrating in giddiness at hearing Yuuri talk in his mother tongue. He could feel his knees starting to grow weak at the accent but then Yuri began replying – or rather grumbling – in Japanese as well, shoulders shrugging in indifference and Viktor from that point on decided that he wanted to learn how to speak Japanese too! How exciting!

“Mou, tanomu yo!” Yuuri pleaded with the boy and just by the tone alone, Viktor knew he was requesting some kind of cooperation from his son. The man was awarded with a snort and the spunky blond pointed at Viktor, calling him something that Viktor could only imagine was not all too pleasant judging by the horrified look Yuuri’s face had morphed into.

Viktor burst out laughing, he simply couldn’t help himself as he bent over to clutch at his rippling stomach muscles. Here he was with both Yuuri and Yuri – he’d have tmo think of a solution oh how to address them at a later date – in front of him like some kind of dream come true and they were both _nothing_ like how he’d imagined. Perfect! He had always liked surprises. By the time he’d composed himself, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye, the pair were looking at him with stunned faces – okay, Yuri’s was more of a scowl.

Blue eyes slid to Yakov who had his arms crossed with no attempt whatsoever in hiding a satisfied smirk and Viktor knew exactly why Yakov had decided to finally take Yuri in – even if it was just for the Summer. It was because of Yuri’s skating obviously, but Viktor found that there was also another reason; to give Viktor a taste of his own medicine. He had to admit, he’d always given Yakov some kind of trouble over the years, be it changing the choreography in the middle of a competition routine without clearing it with him first because he wanted to try something out at that moment or say, nag his coach for the past two years about trying to get a certain child from Moscow to join their team.

Yakov definitely aimed to please because not only did Viktor got what he wanted, he also got his ass handed back to him on a silver platter in the form of an angry blond child. When their eyes met, Viktor swore Yakov’s face was the very depiction of that thug life meme that’s been all over the internet lately. Hmm… actually, now that he thought about it, he should take a picture of Yakov and edit that on to him one day.

Viktor had no experience with children, which was why he thought having Yuri on board with them would have its perks. He had thought that the boy’s talent equated to easily absorbing instructions but he should have known better. Why, just look at him; Viktor was a bright and shining example of that. Yuri was going to be a little hellion but _by god_ did Viktor love a challenge. At the very least, having Yuuri here was some kind of compensation.

Placing a hand to his lip, Viktor tilted his head to the side thoughtfully as he observed the surly boy in front of him. On the ice, Yuri was like an unfinished masterpiece, beautiful and elegant but needed polishing, maybe a couple more brushstrokes – something Viktor was keen on completing. Off the ice, however, the seven year old Yuri Plisetsky carried with him a fighting spirit that could put Olympic medallists to shame. Those sea green eyes narrowed at being objected to such scrutiny, wearing a look that Viktor felt he’d seen before yet he couldn’t place.

“What?” Yuri snapped angrily, practically hissing at him.

Viktor’s face threatened to split into a grin because he’d finally figured out what Yuri reminded him of. “You’ve got character. I like it!” he responded unabashedly, reaching a hand out to tousle those blond locks affectionately but a hand shot out to grab his wrist and kept him from doing so. Viktor’s eyes followed the path to the owner’s face.

“I-I’m sorry but Yuri doesn’t like it when people ruffle his hair,” Yuuri nervously explained, directing the both of them to promptly look at Yuri who had reared back and was shielding the top of his head protectively with both of his hands. “He can get… unruly,” Yuuri said, struggling to find the word. Viktor chuckled at that because Yuri did look absolutely murderous.

Like a cat.

“Oh, pardon me. Ever since the first time I saw him skate, I had wanted to meet him in person. He’s so much cuter up close, I couldn’t resist.”

 _Like his father_.

The last bit was left unsaid and the verbal comment was deliberate, for he already knew what would come out of it but Viktor really wanted to rile him up, just for kicks – or a death wish. As predicted, Yuri threw a couple of PG rated profanities at him, somewhere along the lines of old fart and big dummy head. All of that flew over his head, however, as he was transfixed by another kind of performer he’d been dying to meet.

“And _you_ ,” he breathed out with such reverence as he switched his gaze to Yuuri. Twisting his hand, he was released from the hold and in turning the tables, he slid his fingers up Yuuri’s wrist so that he may capture Yuuri’s hand instead. “I never thought I’d meet you. Your presence has been a delightful surprise indeed,” he purred, cranking up the charm. He kept his eyes on Yuuri while he leant forward, raising Yuuri’s hand to his lips so he may plant a kiss on the back of it.

Before he could, his hand was smacked away. Right. Yuuri had a son and that generally meant that a partner was involved in that equation. He couldn’t flirt with the gorgeous man. _Boo_.

“Stop talking to my papa,” Yuri scolded, clearly annoyed and raised himself on his toe picks to make himself look taller, shifting Viktor’s attention to him. “You said you wanted to meet _me,_ didn’t you? You better watch out for me or else I’ll be taking your place on the podium!” he threatened.

Ah, so that’s what he meant by kicking his ass. He meant on the ice. Viktor could deal with that. Without putting much thought into it, Viktor replied light heartedly, “It would be years, little one, before you could skate on the same ice,” which he quickly found out was something he shouldn’t say to a child.

His coach’s voice boomed from the other side of the rink. “Vitya! Watch your mouth!” Viktor hadn’t meant any bite to it, of course, only wanting to point out the obvious age gap between the two of them but he was inexperienced at dealing with children and not so well versed on how to choose his words carefully that it, unfortunately, might have come off as haughty.

Hurt flashed across the boy’s face and Viktor’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach at the error he’d made. “You’re not taking me seriously,” Yuri accused with a sniff but his expression hardened once more. “Just you wait. Once I qualify for the senior division I’ll be breaking all your records and make you cry when I have a gold medal around my neck.” For the most part, Yuri hadn’t misunderstood and Viktor was impressed at how unshakeable and confident he was. Truly a formidable opponent.

Stretching a hand out, Yuri’s eyes widened at Viktor’s offer for a handshake. “I look forward to our future face off then,” he said with a genuine smile. The star struck look was only momentary and quickly faded when Yuri gripped his hand and gave it a good squeeze. Viktor continued, “For now, I’ll like to get to know my future opponent better. What say I take you and your father out to lunch in the city, hmm?”

Barely finishing his sentence, Yuri had already slapped his skate guards on, whooping in delight. “Yeah, that’d be really cool!” He stiffened suddenly and wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s waist, suddenly looking shy.

With a soft laugh, Yuuri rubbed his back. “Yuri’s a big fan of yours, Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri explained, attempting to shed some light on his son’s sudden change of behaviour.

Now wasn’t that just so cute? Unfortunately for Yuuri though, Yuri hadn’t found it amusing to reveal that piece of information. “Papochka, shh! Don’t tell him that! You’re embarrassing me!” Yuri berated in a harsh whisper and disappeared behind his father to pinch his sides – to which Yuuri jolted, a string of Japanese hissed out in discomfort.

Deciding to be the knight in shining armour that swooped in to the rescue, Viktor intervened in their little squabble. “Wow! What a coincidence, I’m a big fan of you too!”

Peeking at him from behind his father, Yuri’s voice went an octave higher in disbelief as he questioned, “You are?” He then looked up to Yuuri before turning back towards Viktor. “But I haven’t been in any big competitions,” he added, a little sceptical.

Rubbing his chin, Viktor found it a sin that Yuri hadn’t been exposed to the energy of a competition. “Hmm… we should discuss this during our lunch. That is if you still want to go with me?” he proposed once more and tossed in a wink for good measure. At Yuri’s insistent nod, Viktor gave a victorious cheer. “Perfect! You can pick whatever you want, it’ll be my treat for showing me such an exceptional performance.”

Yuuri gave a small bow in gratitude. “Thank you so much, Mr. Nikiforov. This means so much to Yuri –”

Viktor held a hand up to stop him. “Nonsense, I’m happy to! Besides, I meant what I said about meeting you two. What better to get to know each other than over a warm meal?”

“I-if you say so. Shouldn’t we wait for Mr. Feltsman to dismiss us though?” Brown eyes darted towards Yakov, chatting with Georgi.

“Ah, you’re right!” Viktor agreed with a nod. “Yakov~” Viktor pivoted himself around to address his coach in a sing song voice. “I’m going to take our guests out for lunch. We’ll be on our way now and don’t wait up!” He gave a little wave, signalling his desire to leave.

Yakov’s face immediately turned sour. “You just got here Vitya, I expect to see what you’ve worked on while I was gone!” he barked.

“Umm… We’re not opposed to going after your practice, Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri suggested, his brown eyes flitting back and forth between Viktor and Yakov as if anticipating an argument to break out.

Dismissing Yakov with his hand, Viktor gave a blasé, “Yes, yes,” further enraging the coach. “I’ll be happy to show you _after_ lunch,” he said with a smile before turning back to the pair. “Now that that is settled, what kind of cuisine tickles your fancy? Is this your first time in St. Petersburg? I can show you around! You two simply must meet my darling Makka!”

“Oy, Vitya!” Yakov hollered, interrupting Viktor’s long-winded chatter. He was already stomping his way around the rink in their direction, fist raised and shaking angrily. Viktor knew he must in hot water right now but Yakov looked almost comical that it made Viktor chuckle – at least he had the decency to cover it up. He would deal with the consequences later.

Georgi was right on Yakov’s tail trying to diffuse the situation. “Yakov, it’s almost lunch time anyway and Yuri worked hard. Why don’t we all take a break, da?” he tried to reason as he skated alongside him, the skate guards Viktor had so haphazardly taken off in his hand. Bless Georgi, really. Viktor couldn’t ask for a better rink mate. “Remember what the doctor said, all that yelling will raise your blood pressure,” he reminded with a tut when Yakov kept yelling for Viktor. Only Georgi could speak that way to Yakov without getting a lecture as far as Viktor knew, he had tried to no avail.

“I don’t give a damn if my blood pressure goes through the roof! That boy keeps disobeying me, I’m going to have an early death anyway!” he huffed, visibly slowing down to catch his breath. Maybe Viktor did take a couple of years off of him. “Vitya!” he managed to wheeze out one more time before leaning himself against the rink wall, his breath coming out in puffs.

“There, there. Deep breaths, Yakov,” Georgi cooed as he rubbed their coaches back. “Let’s head to the break room, shall we? I made Borscht to share,” he offered, grabbing hold of his shoulder and leading him towards the said room, but not before tossing Viktor his skate guards.

Viktor caught them easily and gave Georgi a salute which was returned. Putting on his skate guards he hurriedly ushered the father and son pair towards the exit, pushing a reluctant Yuuri who was torn between spluttering a protest and an apology towards Yakov. Yuri, thankfully, at the mention of free food and a lunch out with his skating idol made no fuss and was already marching towards where their bags were.

Despite Viktor’s insistence and Yakov’s exit with Georgi, Yuuri was still hesitant on leaving. “I-is it really okay? Mr. Feltsman didn’t seem too pleased by –”

The finger he’d placed against Yuuri’s lips effectively silenced him and brought a beautiful red tint to the apples of his cheeks. “Don’t worry so much, Yuuri. Yakov had already left for Borscht and if it makes you feel better, I was thinking on getting some Vatrushka for the afternoon.” That was a bold-faced lie but Yuuri didn’t need to know that. “I also think little Yuri deserved something special for his performance today, don’t you agree?”

Yuri interrupted the two adults by pushing Yuuri back and he wedged himself between them. “Oy Viktor, I want to go somewhere where they serve American burgers!” he demanded, already dressed to go out, his clothes a little dishevelled in his haste.

“Of course! Anything you want, Yuri!” Viktor promised him with ease, thrilled at how even having just met, Yuri was warming up to him. Yuri’s face changed almost immediately the second he agreed, eyes alight with hopefulness. “Hmm… We have quite a few along the square if I’m not mistaken,” he wondered verbally, a finger to his lips – a trait he’d inherently gotten from his parents – as he tried to remember just exactly which chains were available on the street.

At this point, Yuri was giddy at having _multiple_ choices for burgers and Viktor was determined to spoil him rotten just from the glassy eyed look he was giving him. Unfortunately for the both of them, they’d forgotten that in the end, they didn’t get to have a final say on this.

“ _Dame_ ,” Yuuri had said it with such finality that both Viktor and Yuri’s face fell. “Yurotchka, we agreed you can only eat those kinds of foods on special occasions,” he reminded with arms folded across his chest, looking very much the part of a stern father.

“But papochka!” Yuri whined, grabbing hold of his father’s leg and bumping his head against Yuuri’s thigh. Viktor supposed this was Yuri’s way of pleading with Yuuri when he couldn’t get his way without throwing a tantrum. It was rather cute because despite the fiery personality Viktor saw from him, it was no doubt that Yuri was still a papa’s boy.

“Dame,” Yuuri repeated, his voice softer now yet still just as firm as he brushed a hand through Yuri’s pale hair to placate the boy. Yuuri was strong, Viktor decided because he couldn’t understand how one could resist the pout Yuri was giving his papa. Viktor would have mostly definitely crumbled in seconds.

Tearing himself away from Yuuri, Yuri stood beside Viktor. “But Viktor’s buying! He _wants_ to treat me to American burgers!” he whined, a finger once more pointing at Viktor’s face. “Viktor _promised_ me. Didn’t you, Viktor?” Unfortunately for Viktor, Yuri’s affectionate pleading was not extended to him. Even though the pout was still there on his face, the look he gave Viktor was more demanding but his death glare for getting Viktor to cooperate with him was no less cute and would not deter Viktor from giving the child anything he wanted. Then Yuri delivered the killing blow and Viktor was too speechless to agree so he just nodded his head rapidly.

Yuri had gripped onto Viktor’s sleeve, a soft tug and he might as well be tugging Viktor’s heart strings. He felt he was going to implode.

Yes, yes, all the burgers that they could carry! How many rubles would it take to buy the whole store? Would they be willing to take cheques because Viktor could certainly do that!

It was the sigh from the other Yuuri that broke Viktor out of his mad thoughts on purchasing a burger chain and he could see little Yuri visibly flinching at the amount of disappointment that was released in just one breath. The hand gripping his sleeve fell and was tucked behind the tiny figure as Yuri rocked on his heels, looking a bit guiltily at his father, head hung low. Even Viktor felt the compulsion to apologise.

Yuuri wasn’t just strong, he was _powerful_.

Lowering himself so he was sitting on his heels, Yuuri extended a hand out to his son, a rather strained smile on his face. Regardless, Yuri went over to him with no complaints, taking his father’s hand. “Yurochka, Viktor didn’t promise you anything,” Yuuri scolded him gently, rubbing the back of Yuri’s hand with his thumb. “You shouldn’t do things like that, okay? It’s not very nice.”

A barely audible whine escaped Yuri, voicing some reluctance but he eventually yielded, nodding meekly. “I’m sorry papochka,” he apologised, “And Viktor,” he added as an afterthought, earning him a pat on the cheek for his good behaviour. “I still want to eat American burgers though. Can I really not?” he asked, lower lip jutting out in a soft pout.

“It’s not that you can’t. They’re tasty but fast food can be so bad for you, remember? That’s why we said we can only eat them on special days when you’re not going to be skating, right?” Yuuri reasoned and he did it with such patience and gentleness that made Viktor become more taken with the man than he already was. Viktor really had to hand it to Yuuri for his parenting skills.

However, Yuri wasn’t going to give up without some kind of fight. “But, we’re eating out with _Viktor_. Doesn’t that count as a special day?” he asked.

Viktor’s heart practically sang – that, or he was having heart palpitations. Either way, he placed his hand just above it, trying to calm down at the sudden rush of warm feelings – or it could just probably be his blood. Oh, Yuri! Sweet, sweet, Yuri! Viktor was so _flattered_ that the little one had considered eating lunch with him to be something special. Please, oh _please_ say yes, Yuuri! How this man could be so resistant to Yuri’s cute charms was beyond him.

They had reached a stalemate, Viktor was sure of it. Yuuri had gone silent, thinking long and hard about it while Yuri waited patiently for his father’s answer. He turned towards Viktor who gave him one of his very best smiles, secretly hoping he would say yes. Yuuri straightened up and gave Viktor another of his sheepish smiles that made Viktor’s stomach do summersaults. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nikiforov, this may sound inconvenient but would it be alright to –”

“Yes!” Viktor cut him off sharply, grabbing both of Yuuri’s hands. “My answer is yes!”

Yuri had punched both fists in the air in victory and did a little head bang. “Burgers!”

“Ah, no… You misunderstood…” Yuuri was cringing at the little flub he’d made and he wasn’t the only one who had knitted brows for Yuri looked like he’d gone and sucked on a lemon.

“Papochka, no!” Yuri groaned and latched himself back onto Yuuri’s leg.

Viktor was tempted to do the same but he had to act his age. “Yuuri?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go grab burgers with us at a later date as well? Perhaps on days off? It would make Yuri very happy if you –”

“Yes!” Just like before, he’d cut Yuuri off – he really needed to stop doing that because it would startle the parent every time. “I’d be happy to!” Viktor beamed, squeezing Yuuri’s hands. A day out with these two in the near future? Nothing could be better! As if he would decline such an invitation! His heart was fluttering again, deliriously happy. It’s been ages since he’d felt this mix of giddy nervousness. Why, if he didn’t know better, Viktor would compare this feeling to being asked out on a date. He would have probably considered it that way if only Yuuri wasn’t married.

Viktor froze.

Fingers tightening reflexively, Viktor felt like he’d been hit by a truck, his mind racing. Sure, he’d read the articles and personal biographies – few as they were – and none of them had any mention of him settling down but then again, they never mentioned him having a son either. To be sure, he looked down at the fingers that were in his grasp. Not a ring in sight on any of his delicate fingers, nor was there any evidence that he’d taken it off anytime recently. Yuuri _wasn’t_ married. Viktor’s head was spinning from the sudden rush of information, heart catching in his throat. Yuuri… Yuuri was _single_. Did that mean…?

“I really wanted to eat burgers with Viktor today, papochka.” Yuri’s insistence was muffled by the denim of Yuuri’s jeans and those fingers slipped away from Viktor’s hands in favour of cupping the cheeks of one saddened child.

“I know, zvezda moya,” Yuuri cooed softly, running his thumbs in circles over the boy’s cheekbones. “You have skating today. It wouldn’t be good if you suddenly feel sick in the middle of your routine, would it?”

There was an exasperated sigh but Yuri finally gave in, his shoulders slumped forwards, favouring skating more than a meat patty between two buns. “Okay but that means I get to eat Syrniki!” he declared with a sneaky grin, already grabbing for the next available option – a rather opportunistic little kitten, wasn’t he? The grin only widened and morphed into a grateful smile when Yuuri relented and gave him the okay, his mood instantly perked up.

Viktor would never get enough of this, seeing these two interact had a myriad of feelings exploding like small fireworks within him. In all his years living, not once had he ever considered settling down and starting a family. He never felt ready to sacrifice himself to something other than skating but looking at these two so full of life and love, was perhaps something that had been missing from his life. Viktor wondered if he would ever be able to find something close to that someday.

Smacking a fist to his open palm, Viktor made the two of them turn towards him. “I have a wonderful idea! Yuri, I’ll take you to a place where you can get really good American burgers!” Viktor offered, bending to peer in close to Yuri.

“No!” Yuri protested, hiding partially behind his father. “I’m skating today so I can’t have any! Didn’t you hear what papochka said, Viktor?” he reproached, cheeks puffed up cutely.

Ah, so young and yet so dedicated to skating. Viktor could definitely see a lot of his younger self in Yuri. “That I did but I can take you to an American burger place that won’t make you sick,” he explained and he took a page out of Yuri’s parenting book by crouching so the two were at eye level. “You can pick any toppings you want on it too. How does that sound?” he asked, toning down his voice from his earlier excitement.

“Are you sure it won’t make me sick?” Yuri retaliated, brows pinched in disbelief. At Viktor’s nod, Yuri looked up at his father, silently asking if it was really alright.

Pursing his lips, Yuuri looked a little unsure. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Nikiforov?” he questioned.

Viktor righted himself so he could hold a proper conversation with the man. “I know a place that makes their own burger patties and I can assure you that it is very much American,” he promised. “Would that be okay?” he added, seeking for permission just like Yuri.

It felt like ages before Yuuri gave a nod, Viktor had held his breath the entire time. “I guess that would be okay. As long as it’s not the fast food variety, I’m fine with that.” Yuuri agreed finally and Viktor grinned before excusing himself to get changed, an extra spring in his step.

* * *

Yuuri nearly swallowed his tongue when Viktor led them to a hotel after getting off the tram. After much protest, Viktor (and Yuri) had somehow managed to convince him that this was, in fact, a very good idea. He had expected a restaurant, yes, but nothing could prepare him for somewhere as refined as a hotel restaurant. Just going through the lobby made Yuuri tug his sleeves at just how underdressed they were as practically everyone had pressed suits and silk blouses, carrying briefcases.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri began again for the umpteenth time, trying to wriggle his way out of this.

“Nonsense, Yuuri,” Viktor exclaimed, pulling him by the hand enthusiastically with a smile that mirrored Yuri’s who was his accomplice in pushing the reluctant Yuuri forwards.

Somehow, they found themselves sitting at a corner booth by the window without much fuss by the staff about their dress code. They had been warm and welcoming but that could probably have been because they were in the company of one of Russia’s prominent skaters. Flipping the menu open didn’t give Yuuri a heart attack like he had anticipated – the price for a glass of juice still made him cringe but it wasn’t so outrageously expensive to break the bank, it was an acceptable amount fitting that of a hotel restaurant. Now that he thought about it, the restaurant they were sitting at had a much different atmosphere to the lobby, it looked ridiculously posh, no doubt about it but the ambience was far less stuffy.

Looking up from the menu, he noticed that not all the patrons were dressed to the nines. It comforted him a little, knowing Viktor hadn’t dragged them to some kind of Michelin star restaurant or something. Again, he had gotten worried over nothing. Had he been imagining it all or had he just associated Viktor with living a lavish lifestyle? Yuuri opened a random page in the menu, feeling the tension roll off his shoulders, until he saw the various cuts of steak along with the heavy price tag, that is.

This wasn’t just an ordinary restaurant, was it?

His eyes caught sight of a waiter bringing the couple their food and they nearly popped from their sockets.

Viktor brought them to a steakhouse and grill, didn’t he?

On a side note, who eats _steak_ for lunch? _Who_???

“Pick anything you like, I’ll help Yuri build his own burger,” Viktor told him and scooted away, moving over to attend to his son.

As he flipped through the menu, Yuuri frowned at the lack of a kid’s selection, which meant that Yuri would be eating right off the burger menu and he sincerely hoped that this was the only time that the pictures on the menus were lying through their teeth in terms of portion but just in case, Yuuri opted to get something from the salad menu in the event that Yuri wouldn’t be able to finish his burger. Such was parenthood, doomed to eat your child’s leftovers.

It was Viktor’s laugh that reminded Yuuri that this wasn’t a simple meal between him and his son and that they had company. “Yuri, do you even know what blue cheese taste like?” he chortled as the both of them hovered over their shared menu. “Just stick to the things you’re used to eating on your burger but if you really want to try them we can order the extra toppings on the side. Hmm… I’ll tell you what; you get to choose what to put on my burger and we could switch if you want to get adventurous. Or we could just order multiple burgers with different combinations, that’s fine too!” Viktor said happily. Something told Yuuri Viktor would hold up to that last bit.

“Whoa, really?” Yuri’s green eyes were blown wide in astonishment. “We don’t need a bajillion burgers, Viktor. We can just come here again but for today, I’ll pick out all the ones that sound gross for you!”

“Ah, Yuri’s being so mean to me!” Viktor faked a cry, going as far as to sniffle and wipe a non-existent tear from the corner of his eye. “I guess I’ll have to resign to my fate then,” he sighed dramatically, throwing his head and body back as he laid an arm across his forehead for good measure.

Yuri sniggered before elbowing Viktor playfully. “Stop being such a big baby. How does this, this and this one sound to you?” Yuri asked, pointing to various toppings on the menu. “Will it upset your tummy?”

Clapping lightly with the tips of his fingers, Viktor sounded impressed with Yuri’s choices. “Wow, Yuri, you really know how to pick them!” Yuri only gave a smug laugh and the two of them tried to figure out what kind of sides they’d want to go with their burger.

Cradling his chin, Yuuri watched as the two skaters debated whether shoestring was better than crinkle cut chips, an amused smile on his lips. He’d never seen Yuri so happy. His son had always been to type to keep to himself and Yuuri had been worried when his teachers told him he wasn’t very sociable or cooperative with his peers at school or during ballet classes. Seeing him now with Viktor, being talkative and laughing so openly, it made Yuuri’s heart swell.

At home, Yuri was not shy when it came to his admiration for Viktor, sitting in front of the television with his knees drawn to his chest as he watched his favourite skater. When they had been told that Yakov Feltsman wanted Yuri to join them for training in the summer, Yuri had begged him to say yes because then he would finally, _finally_ be able to meet Viktor in person. Being a parent, his child’s safety and happiness were of top priority so of course, Yuuri said yes, earning him lots of cuddles and pecks on the cheek. Yuri was diligent in both art forms of skating and ballet and his grades were satisfactory so Yuuri had more than enough reason to give his son what he wanted. Yuuri did have to opt out of any summer activities at the company but it was a small sacrifice to see his son in such high spirits. He had been nervous on relaying the news to his extended family though, he did after all blindly gave his consent before telling any of them but they had been supportive of Yuri and gave their blessings.

Yuri made a face when Viktor suggested that they should have coleslaw for their daily dose of vegetables but then laughed when Viktor mentioned that he disliked them too, Viktor giving him a high five. He knew Yuri’s glowing expression wasn’t merely because his son was finally meeting Viktor Nikiforov, his idol, but rather because of Viktor himself. Despite his forwardness, which threw Yuuri off a little at the beginning, the man had been nothing short of considerate, listening to his little boy and responded in kind to get a variety of reactions from Yuri. He was patient and gave him the attention his little Yuri so demanded from him, which was a lot, but Viktor had taken it all in good stride, a permanent smile on his face. The care Viktor had extended to Yuri did things to Yuuri, had his paternal instincts crooning. The fact that Viktor was an attractive athlete had been a sort of extra treat for Yuuri as well.

What? He’s a healthy man and was free to appreciate, wasn’t he?

“Are we ready to order?” Viktor raised when he closed his menu, sending a smile that made Yuuri lurch away from his inappropriate thoughts, a fear welling within him about getting caught.

What if Viktor was a mind reader?

Get it together. Get it together!

“Yes,” he managed to squeak and Yuri shot him a look, possibly telling him to not embarrass himself in front of Yuri’s idol. “I’m ready when you are,” he tried again trying to sound more upbeat than that, lifting his hand and shaping his fingers to give the ‘ok’ sign. The awkward laugh he gave faded as Yuri shook his head slowly at him in disproval and to tell him to cut it out. Yuuri hid both hands under the table, wanting to crawl into a hole.

At least Viktor hadn’t noticed anything strange about his behaviour, or he had been gracious enough to ignore it, simply waving a waiter over to take their order. Viktor took the liberty of ordering for himself and Yuri, the both of them getting burgers as planned but with Viktor choosing to pair his with some kind of fruity concoction – a blended cocktail, was it? – as opposed to Yuri’s chocolate milkshake. Yuuri resisted the urge to tut at him for choosing something so extravagant, he would let his son have his day. Yuuri, on the other hand, had requested the seared ahi tuna salad with a cool glass of iced peach tea.

When the waiter left with their orders, Viktor and Yuri fell into a quiet conversation related to skating and Yuuri tuned them out, settling himself into the plush of the seat with a soft sigh. He turned his head to the side, reading a couple of newspaper articles written in English framed on the wall closest to him. There would be a wait for the food, after all, it was a proper restaurant and as opposed to a fast food chain.

“Tired?”

Yuuri twisted himself around at the close proximity of the smooth voice, only to find Viktor sliding back to his earlier position on the booth right next to him. Rather than answering, Yuuri looked over Viktor’s shoulder to check on his son, worried that something had gone wrong for their conversation to have stopped.

“He seemed very preoccupied so I let him be,” Viktor said warmly, curling his fingers around his complimentary glass of water. Sure enough, Yuri had taken out his Nintendo 3DS from his backpack and was playing another Super Mario game again, judging from the music that flitted from the handheld device, thumbs smashing buttons like no tomorrow, totally immersed. Yuuri must have made a face because Viktor instantly justified his son’s discourteous manner. “It’s alright! I told him to go ahead and play since it’ll be a while before our food gets here. He showed me how to play too since everything was in Japanese,” he reassured.

Shoulders sagging, Yuuri gave the man a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nikiforov. It’s definitely not because he’s bored with you though, Yuri just switches his attention to something else sometimes before getting back to you.”

Viktor laughed, turning the glass in his hand. “I don’t take it to heart. I do it to Yakov all the time,” he joked. “You must have your hands full if that’s the case.”

Mirroring Viktor, he wrapped his hands around his own glass, Yuuri stared at his reflection in the water. “Parenthood is a 24-hour job after all,” he replied, a fondness to his voice. “It’s tough but I’d never trade anything in the world for it.”

Tipping his glass at Yuuri, Viktor remarked, “At least you’re not alone in that department, right?” before taking a sip of his water.

Yuuri’s response was immediate, not thinking much into it, head nodding in agreement. “Oh yes, work can take me away from Yuri sometimes so I’m glad I get an extra set of hands at home.”

“I see,” Viktor murmured, setting his glass back down. Viktor had gone quiet, the cheeriness was gone, his smile all but replaced with a thin line.

The conversation had suddenly run cold, Yuuri noticed, only the beeping sound from Yuri’s 3DS filling the silence between them. He didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the skater, not when he was making Yuri so very happy. Yuuri wasn’t good socially, he knew that and he wouldn’t know what to do in these kinds of situations but after 7 years of being a father, he oddly felt compelled to brush away the silvery strands that fell over his eyes to see what kind of emotion he held in them like how he would check up on Yuri.

That would be a _terrible_ idea.

“The doctor said it must have been the MSG,” Yuuri blurted out of the blue and naturally Viktor turned to look at him confusedly. “Or probably something in the seasoning, they weren’t really sure... Yuri complained about a headache and he threw up soon after. I noticed that it’s only when we’ve had meals at fast food restaurants. One time, the vomiting lasted for a couple of days and he had to be hospitalised for an IV drip. That had been one of the scariest moment of my life. I felt like I had failed as a father that day,” he confessed quietly as he played with his glass. Even Yuuri wasn’t sure why he was telling Viktor this.

“Oh,” was Viktor’s only response, followed by a stretch of silence that made Yuuri fidget in his seat. What did Yuuri expect after telling him that story, anyway? His shoulders slumped at failing once again to hold a decent conversation. It only made him feel worse when Viktor pulled out his phone, tap, tapping away at it.

Defeated, Yuri sighed inwardly. He should just stop talking. It would have been better.

“What about shellfish?”

Yanking himself away from his muddled thoughts, Yuuri came face to face with concerned blue eyes. Having no control over his mouth as his brain tried to catch up, he instead uttered an intelligent, “Huh?” When his brain finally managed to properly reboot, his second try was not much of an improvement. “Sorry, what?”

Stifling a laugh, Viktor just scooted closer and brought Yuuri’s attention to his phone – a far sleeker and more modern model than Yuuri’s old flip phone. Multiple tabs were opened and it was then Yuuri realised that they were all of restaurants. “Are either you and Yuri allergic to shellfish?” Viktor repeated again as he scrolled through with his thumb of what looked like a review page on several restaurants in the city.

Looking up from the phone, Yuuri twisted himself so he could see what kind of face Viktor wore. It was a gleeful one, blue eyes bright as he patiently waited for Yuuri to answer him. “No. No known allergies apart from Yuri’s reaction to fast food...”

“Perfect! Because I was thinking that for our next trip, we could go to…”

Viktor was talking, pointing animatedly at various restaurants on the list and why he thought they would be perfect for their next outing. He pulled up some photos – most of them being burgers that Yuri could enjoy – but Yuuri was once again lost in his own head, not hearing a word Viktor had said because oh… _Oh!_ Heat crawled to the back of his ears as he slowly pieced two and two together. Considerate of his child’s wellbeing, Viktor had gone ahead and hashed the fast food restaurant idea and instead looked up places where they could eat with peace of mind. He gripped the bottom of the seat firmly in a feeble attempt to not swoon.

Viktor huddled closer and made a comment about one of the pictures, breaking into a laugh while Yuuri tried to get some semblance of reality as he looked at this kind man with reverence. Yuuri had noticed it before at the rink when his eyes were drawn to them whenever Viktor laughed but Viktor’s lips were undeniably heart shaped. Those lips were rather distinct – and aptly moisturised – forming every consonant and vowel as he talked and when he stopped, Yuuri took it as a cue to stop staring and pay attention. “Huh?” he asked, slightly bewildered.

Viktor’s face turned soft. “Tired?” he repeated his forgotten question with a sympathetic smile and when Yuuri said nothing, he sighed heavily. “Oh Yuuri, am I that much of a bore that even you would ignore me? You wound me so!”

Jerking at the thought of possibly offending the man, Yuuri frantically apologised. “Oh, no, no, no! Everything’s okay!” he insisted, shaking his head wildly. It was when he saw Viktor’s shaky shoulders did he realise Viktor was teasing him.

Lifting his face from his handheld, Yuri peeked at the two of them. “Adult conversations are so weird,” he huffed and the two of them straightened themselves out. “Oy, Viktor, stop talking to papochka and come and see me win this boss battle!” he called out and when Yuuri narrowed his eyes at him, he grunted out a reluctant, “Please,” in hopes of appeasing him.

Viktor apparently took no mind in the demanding tone and instead swivelled back to Yuuri and tipped an imaginary hat at him. “Duty calls,” he said playfully and slid over till he bumped shoulders with Yuri. That earned him a shove from the blond.

“Not too close or you’ll make me do a mistake and mess up my button combos!” Yuri told the skater off and Viktor raised his hands up defensively, that heart shaped smile on his lips again. “Okay, I’m going to press start so pay close attention, okay?”

Chuckling, Viktor leant forward, an elbow propping his chin up, keeping it a good distance away from Yuri’s arm as to not disrupt his game playing. “Okay.”

Looking up at Viktor, Yuri regarded him seriously. “Watch me win, Viktor.”

Yuuri saw the shock that flashed in those blue eyes before mellowing into a soft endeared look. It was quiet once more, without the awkwardness hanging in the air this time but rather a peaceful silence. Viktor would often interrupt that quietness by a small coo of praise or by asking Yuri a question, his voice but a murmur. The setting all but made Yuuri sigh dreamily to himself. Viktor’s eyes flitted towards Yuuri then, his lips spreading into a smile before redirecting his attention back to Yuri again least the boy had caught him with a wandering eye.

What was _that_?

Reaching for his glass of water, Yuuri downed it like a shot, half wishing it really was one.

The restaurant had excellent service, for not soon after he’d set the glass down, a waiter was quick to refill it.

* * *

“Yuuri, is that really all you’re eating?” Viktor gestured to the plate of salad when it was placed on the table. He was in the middle of cutting Yuri’s burger that had arrived just a moment before with his own into quarters.

“I’m sharing with Yuri,” Yuuri answered nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders, ignoring the shrill “ _What?_ ” from his son. “Yuri please be reasonable, you can’t possibly finish that on your own.” To be fair, the burgers really were as big as the pictures so Yuuri did not regret his menu selection one bit, but that didn’t mean Yuri was ready to share.

“Can too!” Yuri protested, putting his 3DS away and yanked his plate closer to himself so his father wouldn’t be able to take even a bite of his meal. Thankfully, Viktor was done with quartering them and had set the knife and fork safely aside.

“No need to fight, your papa can share with me so he doesn’t have to take your burger away,” Viktor cut in, trying to diffuse the situation.

Yuuri was quick to protest. “No, no, no! My meal is enough, there is no need to share!” he insisted, getting all flustered again.

Instead of calming the boy down like he had intended, Viktor’s words had instead riled Yuri up even more. “You promised to share yours with me!” Yuri reminded him, seething through his clenched teeth.

“You’re right, I did promise you,” Viktor said, admitting his mistake. “I’ll trade your quarter for mine and whatever we can’t finish, we’ll give to your papa, okay?” he negotiated instead, attempting to soothe the fuming boy. When Yuuri attempted to protest again, Viktor wagged a finger at him and tutted gently, wanting Yuri’s answer. He was after all the special boy today.

The glare Yuri aimed towards him would have probably intimidated him if Yuuri hadn’t built up a resistance by always being on the receiving end of them. However, after weighing his options, Yuri eventually gave in. “Okay, okay but only because I feel sorry for papochka for ordering something dumb like salad,” he jeered, sticking his tongue out.

Yuuri gave a huff, stabbing a piece of the seared tuna with his fork, not wanting to argue but was muttering darkly in Japanese. Beside him, disguising his chortle with a cough, Viktor poured himself a glass of water. Embarrassingly, Yuuri had been downing his glass like shots each time Viktor would sneak a glance at him so the waiter had practically given up and just left the pitcher on the table instead of pouring into his empty glass as he walked past.

“Wow, he really does like his burgers,” Viktor commented with a chuckle when Yuri practically attacked one of the quarters Viktor had cut for him.

Laughing lightly, Yuuri lowered his fork. “Slowly, zvezda moya, it’s not going anywhere,” he instructed before turning to Viktor who delved into his own piece, taking off a big bite. It caught Yuuri a little off guard to see him eat the burger normally. He had somehow imagined Viktor would be one to eat it with a knife and fork with how refined he was. “He does, especially since he only gets to eat them on rare occasions now.”

“I do have to ask though… Why specifically American style burgers?” Viktor wondered, combing his fringe back so it wouldn’t get messy. Yuuri inhaled sharply at that. “Is he particular to the taste or was it because he’d eaten them from fast food joints and had taken a liking?” he asked before taking another bite.

Yuuri side glanced at Yuri to check if the coast was clear before answering. Thankfully, Yuri was preoccupied with indulging himself to pay attention to the two adults. Even so, he kept his voice hushed as he told Viktor the reason. “He got it from an American cartoon,” he whispered, the volume of his voice making Viktor lean in close. “The main character flipped burgers for a living and the place he worked at apparently had the best burgers in town. For that point on, Yuri had been _obsessed_ with wanting to eat those specific burgers but knowing he couldn’t in real life, he decided that only American burgers would come close to the real thing because the show was American.”

“Really?” gasped Viktor, genuinely astounded but mirth leaked into his blue eyes.

Nodding, Yuuri tried his best to fight off a smile at just how adorable his little Yuri could be sometimes. “Yes, really,” he confirmed, hackles clawing up his throat now so he reached for his glass of water for the nth time that day.

“Ah, here come the drinks!” Viktor clapped cheerfully, thanking the waitress that brought them over.

She had asked Viktor if it was alright if she took a picture of him with her phone and Viktor obliged, posing with the drink she brought him, looking very much like he was modelling for an ad. Aside from how ridiculously good the humble photo snap looked, Yuuri was pleasantly amazed at how open Viktor was with his fans – him indulging Yuri was living proof of that but then again, Yuri would be working with Viktor under the same coach. Nevertheless, Yuuri hadn’t expected such modesty from a sportsman given his eminence and Yuuri had seen his fair share of people that had allowed fame to get to their heads.

“Viktor, what’s with your drink being neon?” Yuri paused in his munching to ask, looking at the drink curiously. “Can I try it?”

Sliding the drink away from Yuri’s reach, Viktor shook his head. “No little one, these kinds of drink aren’t for children.”

“Oh. Are they adult drinks? Dedushka sometimes drinks those but I’ve never seen anything that looks like that before. It looks fun.” Yuri popped a chip into his mouth.

Humming, Viktor picked up a chip – a crinkle cut one – from his very own plate and dipped it into Yuri’s milkshake, scooping a big dollop of it. “Adult drinks don’t always taste as good though, you should just stick to your milkshake,” he said with a wink before eating the dipped chip. He moaned, pleased at the taste and licked the salt off his thumb

Yuri spluttered, eyes the size of saucers. “W-wha..? Papochka, did you _see_ that? Viktor dipped his chip into the milkshake and ate it!” he squealed in horror.

Viktor gave a small gasp. “Yuri~ You haven’t explored such culinary wonders? I’m disappointed in you. Go on, try it!” Viktor insisted, picking up another piece and dipping it into the chocolate milkshake again and leant in to feed it to Yuri. “Say ahhhh~” he coaxed.

Yuuri had no intentions of rescuing his son from Viktor, more interested in what kind of dressing they had used for his salad as Yuri tried to squirm away from Viktor. He ignored his pleading cries of “Papochka, help me!” while he tried to wrestle Viktor’s arm away from his face. When it looked like Yuri was going to lose, Yuri casted another pleading look his way while trying to avoid the soggy chip. Yuuri took a bite of his salad, relishing the umami flavour the wakame provided. Yuri shot him a look of betrayal when Viktor finally managed to shove the chip into his mouth, smearing chocolate sauce and ice cream onto his lips.

Yuuri grinned smugly. Take that, you cheeky monkey.

Of course, Yuri was never in real danger that he’d have to step in. Considering how confectionery and potatoes was a normal snack combination back in Japan, Yuuri never did understand the discourse about chips being dipped in ice cream or milkshakes. He himself had eaten them during his youth and would buy boxes of chocolate dipped crisps at Japanese airports for when he returned to Russia as omiyage. Better have his son be exposed to the flavour sooner than later.

“Good, isn’t it?” Viktor asked, looking pleased with himself. Yuuri too was interested in how Yuri would find the combination, putting his fork down to observe his son.

Yuri chewed slowly, brows furrowed as he assessed the taste on his tongue. Smacking his lips after he had swallowed, Yuri reached over to take a long sip of his milkshake. Yuuri and Viktor waited for his verdict. “It was weird,” he commented and Viktor clutched his heart in disappointment. “I don’t hate it either. I’ll have them separately.” He only emphasised this when he ate an undipped chip and munched on it before drinking his milkshake. “Better.”

“Yuri!” Viktor whined. “That’s the same thing!”

“Nope,” Yuri disagreed, shooting Viktor down and shook his head. “Do you want to try, papochka?” he asked Yuuri, wiggling a piece of chip between his fingers to entice Yuuri.

Yuuri’s reared his head back at the offending piece of chip. “No thank you and please don’t play with your food, Yurochka,” he reminded Yuri of his table manners to which Yuri whinged.

“Now Yuri, listen to your papa,” Viktor quipped, wagging his finger at him.

Yuri had fumed but went back to his burger again, the grilled vegetables on the side remained untouched. Viktor had taken note of it and persuaded Yuri to at least take one for every five bites of his burger. Apparently, they’d made a deal to include the least gross veggies earlier during their decision making and Yuuri was glad his son’s meal was somewhat balanced.

Viktor grabbed his drink, his fingers curling beautifully around the stem of the glass. Yuuri eyed the drink warily as he took a sip of his own ice tea. “Want a sip?” Viktor offered after catching Yuuri’s gaze and Yuuri flushed, berating himself for being caught staring.

“No, I’m good,” he mumbled, picking at his salad again.

“Ah, not much of a drinker, are you, Yuuri?” Viktor teased lightly, resting the rim of the glass on his lower lip.

“I umm… ah, no,” Yuuri struggled to find the words. Would it be shameful to say that he, a full grown adult avoided alcohol like the plague? “Not during the daytime,” he corrected, settling for that instead to save him from the embarrassment. “Mr. Feltsman won’t mind?” he asked, the question had come out so unfiltered, it was as if he’d been the one drinking alcohol.

Yuuri wanted to scream.

Stop. Talking. _Now_.

Instead of feeling affronted, Viktor laughed it off. “Why Yuuri, I’m Russian! I bet Yakov and Georgi are cracking a bottle right now,” he supposed, swirling the drink in his hand. “You should too. To mark our first meeting!” he suggested excitedly, making his drink slosh around in its glass.

Before Viktor could go ahead and call a staff member over, Yuuri waved his arms wildly in refusal. “No, no! The truth is I barely drink.” Better to get the truth out at some point, right? He rubbed his arm. “I don’t really make a habit of it…” he trailed off, looking at Yuri. Yuri would definitely scold him if he made a fool out of himself.

Viktor had followed his gaze and his excitement deflated a little, setting his glass down. “Oh, should I have gotten something else?”

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Nikiforov –” Yuuri began but Viktor was already cheerfully waving a waiting staff over. “Please, it’s no problem at all!” Clearly, Viktor had misunderstood. Drinking was part of Russian culture just as much as it was Japanese so it wasn’t as if it was taboo to drink while the sun was still up or anything and Yuri had had some exposure to it so Yuuri didn’t understand why Viktor would do this.

Viktor had ended up ordering a mocktail version of his previous drink and had the alcoholic one get taken away. Yuuri felt unbearably guilty, chewing on his bottom lip instead of eating his salad. “Now then, how about that celebratory toast?” Viktor requested, raising his glass.

Why was he so chill about all of this? Letting a disgruntled sound, Yuuri raised his glass anyway. “You really didn’t have to do that, Mr. Nikiforov…”

Viktor didn’t hear his mumbled apology or had simply ignored it in favour of clinking his glass with Yuuri’s. “To new friends!” he cheered before taking a gulp.

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat at the declaration. Placing his glass down, he knew that things had been out of order and this really wasn’t the most appropriate place to do it but he gave a small bow. “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” he said, slipping back to his mother tongue. This expression, he felt could not be conveyed properly without the emotion and sincerity it harboured being lost in translation if he were to say it in Russian.

When he raised his head once more, Viktor’s lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something in response but the cat had gotten his tongue. His cheeks held a soft pink hue – probably the alcohol’s doing. Blue eyes glittered with an emotion Yuuri couldn’t put a name to. Bewilderment? Shell-shocked? Had Yuuri been too forward? Should he have given him a translation? Though, that would ruin the expression completely and would not justify the reason of him saying it in Japanese in the first place. Instead, he pushed his glasses up his nose and returned to his salad.

It took a few seconds before Viktor blinked back to life. He quickly snapped to Yuri who was blissfully about to enjoy his second burger quarter and grabbed his arm, shaking it roughly. “Yuuuuri! What did your papa say? He said something in Japanese and I think it’s important I understand it!” he cried. Yuuri stifled a snort. You _do not_ come in between Yuri and his burger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man! Let go of my arm!” growled Yuri.

“But Yuuuuuuuri!” he dragged Yuri’s name again and it only served to make Yuri angrier, refusing to answer Viktor. “I need to know!” Viktor begged, laying his head on the table to look at Yuri with pleading eyes.

With a sigh, Yuri dropped his burger. “Look, I didn’t listen but knowing papochka, he probably said something like let’s do our best or we’ll be under your care or something like that,” he heaved a sigh. “Can I get back to eating now?” Yuri didn’t wait for an answer though and gathered his burger piece in his hands again.

“Oh.” You could hear the disappointment in Viktor’s voice. Well, it was partially correct. Its translation definitely wasn’t as flashy as its Japanese counterpart. Viktor could take the expression however he wanted to perceive it, Yuuri decided and thus did not correct it. Viktor turned back to Yuuri then, grabbing both his hands, the action cause Yuuri’s fork to fall with a clatter. “Don’t worry Yuuri, I’ll watch over your little boy. You can trust me.”

Yuuri gulped, throat suddenly tight. Yuuri made the mistake of looking into Viktor’s eyes and had come to the realisation that they weren’t as true blue as he had originally thought. Or was it a play of light? Either way, Yuuri knew he could trust those eyes. “I’ll be counting on you then.”

“Oy Viktor,” Yuri called out, deciding to grace Viktor with his attention again. “Can I try what your burger tastes like now?”

When Viktor finally let go of Yuuri’s hands, his fingers glided across his palm. It was tingly – and if Yuuri was a little honest, slightly greasy. Yuuri let out the breath he’d been holding, adjusting his glasses again but more out of nervousness than anything else.

“Why, of course, Yuri!” Viktor doted on his son again, carefully transferring a piece to Yuri’s plate.

The rest of the meal was pleasant, with minimal dramatic surges from Viktor. Yuri had engaged Viktor in more skating talk and the two of them had bonded over the sport while they ate their burgers, leaving Yuuri with his thoughts again. As Yuuri had expected, Yuri had not been able to finish his meal, leaving Yuuri to eat a quarter of it along with the rest of the grilled carrots that Yuri had decidedly refused to eat – Yuuri was still trying to figure out how to make him take a liking to them. Viktor had at one point placed a small wedge of his burger onto his plate of salad. The bun of it fell off and tumbled off the plate, making all three of them peal with laughter.

Taking the last sips of his iced tea, which was more ice than tea now, Yuuri waited for Yuri and Viktor to get back from washing their greasy hands. From their table, he could hear the sound of the automatic hand dryer humming, stopping and roaring back to life again, followed by mischievous giggles from the two. The sound filled him with warmth, reminding him of wind chimes tinkling in the summer breeze as he spent a rare unhectic day just sitting on the porch with his family.

Yuri came running back to their table, sliding the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. “Yurochka, come here,” Yuuri beckoned him over with his hand. Yuri crawled his way to him, the pleather of the seat creaking under the weight of his knees. He’d almost slipped as he was wearing his tights but Yuuri managed to grab him before he toppled and banged himself to the table. “Whoa there!” he chuckled whereas Yuri puffed up his pink cheeks, embarrassed.

Grabbing a fresh napkin from its little basket on the table Yuuri held Yuri’s jaw. Green eyes immediately screwed shut, Yuri’s face looking like he was about to encounter utmost torture. “It’s just a napkin,” Yuuri teased as he patted away the extra grease and brushed off any stray crumbs. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you washed up properly,” he lectured, trying his hardest to sound firm but failing. How could he when Yuri was this adorable? He wiped at a non-existent stain on his nose with the clean side of the napkin.

“Don’t!” Yuri groaned, batting his hands away. “I’m clean, yeah? Oh, but…you have dressing on your face though,” he noted, pointing to a non-descriptive spot on Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri should have seen it coming. He’d pulled the same trick on Yuri for years now and while he was busy trying to find the exact spot around his mouth, Yuri dove in to bop him on the nose.

“Boop!”

“Hey! Come here you little rascal!” Yuuri cried gleefully, pulling Yuri onto his lap and nuzzled the crook of his son’s neck, pretending to bite him like a mother cat would reprimand her kitten.

“Papochka, that tickles! Stop!” Yuri wiggled in his arms but did nothing to escape his grasp.

“Now isn’t that cute?”

The two of them froze, having forgotten about the other man in their group and was caught off guard. Turning towards him, Viktor was looking at them through his makeshift camera, hands brought together to resemble the lens. “Cheese!” he said cheerfully, collapsing his fingers to mimic the closing of the shutter. “I caught a beautiful moment!” he declared.

Jumping off Yuuri’s lap, Yuri went over to Viktor. “Erase that!” he demanded, poking at Viktor’s side.

Tipping his head back in laughter, Viktor denied him. “Nope, it’s permanently stored here!” he said tapping the side of his head. “You can’t get it out~”

“Unless I break it open,” Yuri said through gritted teeth and cracked his knuckles.

Yuuri decided it was time to step in again and rear back his angry son. “Let’s pay up and get back to the rink. Mr. Feltsman must be waiting for us.” Yuuri wasn’t sure how long Yakov was allowing them to take time for lunch but if it was anything like his ballet rehearsal time, they were certainly pushing it. After their meal, they had spent a good while talking – at least Viktor and Yuri did – to let their meals settle down and unwind some more so he was pretty sure Yakov must be waiting for them by now.

“Oh hush, there’s no hurry at all. I hadn’t received any calls so all is well. You worry too much, Yuuri,” Viktor tried to reassure him as he fished his wallet from his jacket pocket. Despite Viktor’s confidence, Yuuri still remained anxious. “We can afford to dawdle a little bit longer. Besides, I think we should walk off some of that burger,” he suggested, looking at his stomach sadly while he gave it a few sympathetic pets.

Side eyeing the motion, Yuuri tried to hold in his jealousy at how Viktor was able to eat burgers without inhibition. If it were him, it would go straight to his thighs – another reason why he opted for the salad. When Viktor raised his head back up again, something caught Yuuri’s attention.

If one were to ask Yuuri why it had happened, Yuuri honestly couldn’t give a straight answer. Probably he was still in the mindset of being a parent with Yuri or perhaps it was simply a reflex since he still had a napkin in his hand. Really, he shouldn’t have but he did. He’d reached up and wiped a sesame seed off of Viktor’s chin and when he realised what he was doing, hand still raised, he was _mortified_.

“Wow!”

“Oh, my god!”

They had exclaimed at the same time. Viktor’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree and Yuuri had buried his face in his hands. Why was he like this? Why wasn’t the earth opening up to swallow him to save him from the embarrassment? Why him?

Peeking through his fingers, he saw that Viktor was still grinning from ear to ear, still as heart shaped as ever. “You really are a father, aren’t you?” he commented. “Looks like I have two good memories to keep now.”

“Please, don’t say anything,” Yuuri moaned, closing his fingers back up again to hide.

“I don’t get it?” Yuri asked confusedly, tugging on his sleeve. “So, papa cleaned your face. Big deal.”

Putting a finger to his lips, Viktor pursed his lips to refrain from saying anything and instead lead Yuri away. “Let’s give your papa a minute,” he said.

Taking a deep breath after Viktor and Yuri had walked away, Yuuri released it slowly. It happened and nothing bad followed. He smacked both his cheeks to get a hold of himself and adjusted his clothes. By the time Yuuri had reached the cashier, Viktor was handed a receipt and was tucking his change neatly into his wallet. Yuuri took out his own to pay for his salad and drink, he was certain his meal was not included in Viktor’s treat. The cashier held up his hands though when Yuuri was searching for the right notes and explained that Viktor had paid for all three meals.

“You can pick up the next bill,” Viktor proposed and too tired now to constantly refute him, Yuuri conceded.

“Thank you, Mr. Nikiforov,” he said with a nod of acknowledgement.

* * *

“My teacher back in Moscow showed me clips of you during your junior days. She said you were the best so it makes sense for me to break all your records once I grow up!” Yuri declared as he swung the hand that was connected to his father.

“Ah, my junior days,” Viktor sighed. “That was ages ago when I had long hair! Maybe I should grow it back?” he mused, rubbing a lock of his fringe between his thumb and forefinger. Then he caught it, the blush creeping across Yuri’s face before he could turn his head away from him, the clip holding his hair back shining in the sunlight. Viktor could only smile. He felt honoured that Yuri looked up to him so much and had inspired and influenced him thus far. He felt so happy his heart could burst.

Thinking, he rapped his fingers on the box of Vatrushka he was holding – Yuuri had reminded him of the fib he’d conjured up and they had bought some. “Hmm… I think I set my highest in the junior division with my performance of The Lilac Fairy? I wonder how that went. I don’t really keep track of the junior league anymore, I’m afraid.” He had purposely aimed that question towards Yuri, curious to know if the boy would know the answer to that and Yuri did not disappoint.

“An Alexander Samarin broke it about a year ago. He’ll move on to the senior division next year probably but don’t worry, he doesn’t stand a chance against you!” Yuri answered with a clenched fist.

“Wow, you really know all there is about skating, don’t you Yuri?” Viktor asked, feeling prouder than he probably should be.

Yuri scoffed. “Of course, I do. I need to scout out the competition.”

“Do you keep tabs on me?” Viktor cooed, already knowing the answer. Yuri’s nose scrunched up, obviously peeved at the insinuation after his explanation and Viktor patted his back lightly. “Ah, even the young ones are putting a target on my back nowadays. I thought I did pretty well that year but nowadays, the scores just keep getting higher and higher each season. More quads are being added to routines too. Eventually, someone’s going to pull off a clean quad axel."

“You haven’t made any attempts?” Yuri squinted his eyes at him sceptically.

“Aaa, I can’t give away my skating secrets to a fellow competitor now, can I?” he tutted, winking at him playfully.

At first, Yuri bristled and had opened his mouth to retaliate but then his lips quivered and then puckered before pursing together, trying to keep himself from getting giddy over the compliment. Yuuri covered his own laughter, hiding it behind a clearing of his throat.

Viktor looked at them fondly before facing ahead. As the skating rink loomed closer into view and his private time with the father and son pair inevitably drew to a close, Viktor’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. As much as he loved skating, he really hadn’t really started with the best mood for it today and with the appearance of Yuri and Yuuri – he still needed a way to differentiate them – he just wanted to spend time with them off the ice.

“I can’t wait to get back on the ice!” Yuri expressed joyfully, a contrast to what Viktor was feeling. “I want to see the routines you did at Worlds!”

“Which one do you like better, my Short or my Free program?”

With a roll of this eyes, Yuri snorted. “I’m not dumb, you know. The only way I get to see both is if I don’t tell you which one I like.”

Smart kid.

“ _Or_ , you could ask Mr. Nikiforov nicely,” Yuuri suggested pointedly.

A bubble of laughter erupted from him. “What about you, Yuuri?” Viktor addressed the man. He had noticed that Yuuri tended to stay quiet during his conversations with Yuri. He couldn’t figure out if Yuuri was actually shy or just kept to himself but Viktor wanted him to be part of those conversations, to have the three of them talk freely. He wanted that connection, craved it from the first time he saw him on stage. Yuuri was someone who understood the art of making music with his body, of painting a story. He wanted to know _Yuuri_.

“What about me?” was the automatic reply but then again Viktor’s question had been cryptic at best.

“What do you think of my performance? Is there one you enjoyed?” Viktor certainly hoped so. As a professional dancer, maybe Yuuri could critique some of his movements or maybe give him pointers. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

Viktor watched Yuuri carefully as he pressed his lips together in thought. He tried to be patient but the thought of Yuuri watching him skate with his son on his lap did things to him. Yuuri started to look uncomfortable. Was his eye contact putting too much pressure on him? When Yuuri turned his head away looking embarrassed, Viktor almost deflated. Clearing his throat, Yuuri said in a small voice, “I uhm… I don’t watch you?” he said unsurely, rounding his statement into a question.

There was a large crack and Viktor was sure his ego had taken a huge hit. Yuuri hadn’t watched him at all? Not even with Yuri on his lap like he’d imagined? Yuuri had never seen him skate? Had never witnessed his jumps and spins in any of his programs before? This was terrible! This needed to be fixed ASAP! Viktor’s mind went reeling. It all made sense now. This was why Yuuri didn’t insert himself into their conversations. They’d all been about skating! Which Yuuri knew _nothing_ about apart that it’s a sport his son was interested in. Why hadn’t he notice it sooner?

Somewhere along his inner monologue, Viktor had stopped walking, leaving him at the bottom of the steps leading up to the rink. The pair had already made it up a couple of steps, body halfway turned to blink back at him over their shoulders as they realised he wasn’t with them. “Mr. Nikiforov?” Yuuri called out to him and that snapped him from his thoughts.

“Yuuri, you really know how to hit where it hurts,” he expressed his hurt with a sigh, looking at him with big sad puppy-like eyes – the same way Makkachin had looked at him this morning.

“Eh? What did I do?” Yuuri asked in confusion which quickly manifested into panic. “What did I do?!” he flailed, looking at Yuri for answers but he just shrugged his shoulders, just as baffled as his father.

* * *

Immediately after the automatic doors parted, they were greeted by a deceivingly happy Yakov. “Ah, Viktor, there you are. Now that you’ve had lunch, I’m sure you’re ready to get back on the ice. Get changed.”

Uh oh.

Viktor knew that tone. Yakov had let Viktor have his way and now it was time for him to pay his dues. His session was going to be brutal, he could tell from the glint in Yakov’s eyes that told him that he was going to be absolutely merciless, nit picking on every detail. If he were to check his phone – which he had conveniently muted – there were probably dozens of text messages and missed calls from Yakov and Georgi. “I bought Vatrushka,” he said cheerfully, handing Yakov his peace offering.

Yakov expression didn’t change but he took the box from Viktor’s hands. “Wonderful. Get changed,” he deadpanned.

“I had a burger,” Viktor blurted out, hoping that it would save him or at least earn him a free pass from attempting jumps. Granted, it had been more than an hour since their meal had ended but Yakov would appreciate a report of what he’d eaten.

“No matter, I’m more interested in seeing what you’d worked on while I was away.”

Oops.

Viktor put on his best smile. “About that…” he trailed off, Yakov’s nostrils growing bigger with each breath he took, a look Viktor had grown familiar with. He was reminded of Yuri’s request from before – he wasn’t totally forgetful – and batted his eyelashes at his coach. “Little Yuri would like to see my old programs. It would be good practice, no?” he suggested, putting his hands on Yuri’s shoulders and using him as a human shield.

“Fine. Just go get changed and stretch. You’ve wasted enough time already,” Yakov grunted with a finality in his voice.

“Ah, Mr. Feltsman, I’m sorry we’re taking too much of Mr. Nikiforov’s time,” Yuuri apologised immediately, doing his Japanese bow again. It’s cute how Yuuri would come to the rescue and Viktor felt a little touched the man would do that for him.

“No, Yuuri, Vitya should have known better,” said Yakov, shooting Viktor a dirty look. “I hope he has been treating you and your son well during lunch. I’ve told you about how difficult my student could be and I am certain he had done something that has offended you,” he apologised on Viktor’s behalf.

Viktor jutted his lower lip out. How rude!

Shaking his head, Yuuri denied such accusations. “No, Mr. Nikiforov has been nothing but gracious. Thank you for allowing Yuri to have lunch with him.”

Yakov gave a scoff. “I’m glad Vitya decided to behave. Though, I make no promises in the future.”

“Hey!” Viktor couldn’t help but retaliate to that.

Yakov naturally dismissed it and turning to Yuri, his lips curved up slightly. “Did you have fun?” He looked satisfied when Yuri nodded his head. “Good. Why don’t you get changed first? Then we can work on something new for you with the choreographer after Viktor’s session.”

“Okay, Mr. Feltsman!” Yuri said eagerly, hitching his backpack up and slipping away from Viktor to the rink.

Chuckling, Yakov’s eyes followed Yuri as he disappeared down the hall. “Yuri’s such a good boy. There was a time when Vitya would listen to my instructions like that. Now all he does is ignore everything I ask of him and goes at his own pace,” he spoke to Yuuri as if Viktor wasn’t even in the room. “I would very much appreciate it if he’d set a good example for Yuri since he looks up to him so much, and he could start by changing for practice,” he said, slanting his eyes towards Viktor.

Slightly affronted at how bad Yakov was making him look in front of Yuuri, Viktor took the hint and spun on his heel. “Okay, Mr. Feltsman,” he mimicked Yuri’s keen voice to taunt his coach, feeling oh so bitter inside as he sulked off to the changing room. The trill of Yuuri’s melodious laugh floated down the corridor and it lessened Viktor’s sting, making his face relax. Since this would be the first time Yuuri would see Viktor skate, he was determined to let show Yuuri another side of him. Just like how Yuuri had enraptured him on the stage, Viktor wanted his eyes on him.

The ice was cleared for him by the time he came out, decked in his gear and properly stretched. Everyone was by the boards, engaged in light conversation but they turned when he approached, the soft thuds of his skate guards alerting them of his presence. It was only practice but his heart thrummed inside his chest, knowing that he’d be performing on the ice. Wordlessly, he handed Yakov his skate guards and when his blades touched the icy surface, Viktor instantly felt lighter, ready. He made a few loops around the rink, making sure he was centred. Yuri had asked why some skaters made a cross before skating by motioning downwards from their forehead and touching their shoulders. He had explained that it was a method for most to be reminded of their axis for jumps and while Viktor would be exempting his jumps this time, the gesture had already become a sort of ritual for him.

The scrape of his golden blades as it cut through the ice was soothing and he redirected himself to face his audience, one foot propped up so that his toe pick dug into the ice. Yuri’s eyes were trained on him, hands gripping the boards tightly, his papa had hiked him over the boards and held him so he may look without obstruction. Viktor let out a breath trying to get into the zone but something was still bothering him.

“Yuuri!” he called out but both father and son had acknowledged him, Yuuri’s head tilted slightly in silent question at being called. “Watch me carefully,” he said softly, the words directed to neither Yu(u)ri in particular. He stretched an arm out to them, it being his starting pose and as a cue for the music to start.

When the first note played, Viktor came to life. However, he wasn’t Viktor Nikiforov anymore, but an unfortunate prince, tricked and cursed to spend his lifetime as a blue bird. His blue eyes caught wide soft brown ones and he reached out, skating backwards as the blue bird’s wings were caught and clipped off, feet bleeding for perching on broken glass and metal, it begged, pleaded to return to the castle. Viktor clenched his fist as all the blue bird’s efforts were in vain and he was left to lament his misfortunes in his capture.

Watch me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fluff is my jam, guys!
> 
> Yes, I am aware you shouldn't eat anything heavy like burgers before attempting physical activity. Yuri wanted to eat his favourite food with his idol and Viktor is only too eager to please him. Let the boy have his burger! Also, a lot of time had passed between lunch and when Viktor started skating but please don't make these decisions irl. Regarding the fast food, I am not against fast food at all but some children can be fairly sensitive to the seasonings put in them. Some eventually grow out of it but for some that allergy is forever. People have mixed feelings about MSG but it wasn't the culprit in this story and was only a possibility. So don't jump me, okay? Do google the Russian food, they look delicious af! :9
> 
> I've debated on whether to have the names addressed appropriately since rules for its authenticity in fics have been circling around tumblr. While the proper way should be first name + patronym, for the sake of my readers (and my sanity) I have decided on the format I felt was best and comfortable.
> 
> Viktor's program at the end was based on the story of The Blue Bird. Sound familiar? Yuuri had danced it in Sleeping Beauty but Viktor's story focused more on the prince's enchantment and his lament of not being reunited with Princess Florine. Any guesses what his Free program would be? :D
> 
> Well, that's chapter 3! I am going to be a responsible adult now and write my pending assignments. Also, it's Golden Week here in Japan so Happy Children's Day!! :D *waves carp flags* Please leave a kudos if you haven't and yell at me about how cute Viktor would be if he were a dad! If you feel it's good enough, feel free to share it with your friends. Thanks so much to all the people who'd supported this fic and for giving kudos and comments ;w; they give me life and really motivate me to keep going. I really appreciate it all and it lets me know that there are people out there who are interested in me continuing this.

**Author's Note:**

> Bet you thought it was going to be another Viktor as Yuri's dad while Yuuri was his ballet instructor, didn't you? I raise you soloist Papa Yuuri and (maybe?) coach Viktor bc Yurio deserves the best *nods nods* Sorry the summary ended up being some sort of trailer that didn't come true but I've always made sneaky teasers like that.
> 
> Regarding Yuri's skating... I've never figure skated before so please don't kill me if I got anything wrong. All the move sets were from countless hours of watching skating routines, practices and skill tutorial videos but please feel free to correct me if something is off. You might think that the difficulty level would be too high for Yuri at his age but have you seen those skater kids on youtube? Especially the Russians, like wow Russia what do you have in your waters to produce prodigies like that at 2 years old? We are also seeing the story from Viktor's eyes and while it might not truly have been perfect, I firmly believe Viktor is the type to see what is potentially there. While I want this fic to be as accurate and as real as possible, this is still a work of fiction and let us enjoy the magic a bit more :3
> 
> Viktor mentioned himself as being an eagle and the reason for that is because there is a double headed eagle on Russia's crest and this had symbolised power and greatness in many empires which I thought was fitting not only in character but as a symbol for a little fledgeling to look up to. Also, I think he would cry once he finds out that bald eagles are a thing.
> 
> Yuuri's routine was loosely based on the Bluebird in the ballet of Sleeping Beauty and hence why Viktor thought was something Georgi would like because his skating programs in the anime were of the ballet's inspiration. Also, I know Yuuri's name is supposed to be written Katsuki Yuuri (the correct Japanese way) but they're in Russia so his first name preceded his family name in the program.
> 
> Am I the only one who thinks that Viktor is the type to easily get swept by his emotions and get into misunderstandings? No? Just me? Okay :( I try to keep them in character as much as I can but hey, this is an AU so it might be slightly different from canon and I really cannot hold a candle to Kubo-sensei's amazing work. Also this was not beta'd so please forgive me if some errors have slipped past me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! To be able to write and post it up really meant a lot to me because as I've said, I had been struggling. Kudos and feedback would be highly appreciated. I would really like some input especially those who do ice skating and ballet irl. Please feel free to drop by and add me on tumblr (que-bae.tumblr.com) so we can talk about yuri!!! on ice! :D You are welcomed to give suggestions because the idea for this fic is rough and not yet concrete. Sadly, updates would be sporadic as my sensei genuinely wants to kill me with reports and experiments :( and that I take a lot of time for all the background research and stuff so again people who skate and do ballet irl, any input is appreciated!


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